#the thought of his little mini-me growing up in a split home makes him feel WORSE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zmediaoutlet · 3 years ago

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in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

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erensproudsimp · 4 years ago

Text

One Night Stand

Gojo Satoru x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Summary : Working as a stripper, it was your job to please men for your daily bread until the day you met a handsome man offering to give you a ride back home, naughty things happening along the way.

Word count : 2.4 k

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the changing room all decked up in your glittery lingerie, ready to put on a show for disgusting men. Painting your lips a bright red, you smacked them together to spread the colour. Being a stripper sure brought a lot of money in which made you so happy but the fact that you had to please men for it didn't sit right in you. Taking a deep breath, you exited the room, your five inch heels clacking the surface with your each step. Gesturing your colleagues a 'hi' by waving your hand, you entered the area where the clientele would be.

Electronic music echoing around the entire room, gracefully you walked to your respective pole with the other stripers going to theirs. Prepping yourself up and warming up a little, you made sure you were perfect to earn more money. Led lights falling on your being as you were made among the centres of attraction for people to feed their eyes on your show. Placing your manicured hand on the cold pole, the other on your hip, you waited for people to enter the club so that you could start dancing. Your golden lingerie really brought out your curves and your sex appeal. Sparkling under the stage light, feeling like the bad bitch you are, you could bet your ass that money would be flying like nothing in your pockets.

Once people started entering the club, you started your performance to attract them to you. Gliding your heels on the floor, you split your legs, synchronizing your movements to the beat of the song currently being played, your sensuality bursting into the most vibrant dance. Your legs extended like a primal ballerina as you stood up, brushing your hair off your face before dragging it down your chest to finally grab your pole.

For the most part, you felt as though the front people were your main audience unaware of two bright blue eyes analyzing your every move. As you turned your body, your eyes caught caught a man sitting not far away in the back, him less adept at hiding his gaze than you. He had the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. One glance at him was enough to make you fall on your knees for him. He dropped his eyes momentarily before looking away, his head tilted on one side supported by his arm placed on the couch, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he pushed his dark glasses back.

Ignoring him, of course, you continued dancing making old men's pocket hurt. At some point, you became bored with staying on the stage and got off to approach your clients closer. Catwalking nearer to the man who caught your attention, you halted to the couch beside him where a blond man wearing glasses was drinking what seemed to be a glass of whiskey. Licking your lower lip, bending down to drag your index finger on his cheeks, you saw in the corner of your eye, the white haired man staring at you with a frown. More money thrown you, you sat on the man still sneaking peaks at your main interest for the night to see if your actions were affecting him.

Not so long later, you got bored of the blond guy, blowing a kiss at him, you finally went over to your target. Oh lord, to say he was just handsome was an understatement of his true attractiveness. He was beyond gorgeous, having the beauty equivalence of probably a god, he was radiating so much power. Dressed in a tight white shirt half buttoned, his abbs see through, with black pants, he laid on the furniture with crossed arms. However, upon seeing you approaching him, he opened them, placing them on the couch beside his shoulders.

Sitting next to him, you inclined yourself towards him, your hand on his thigh.

"Enjoying this night?"

"Now that you're close to me I sure am enjoying it more," he flirted.

"Oh really, is there any other thing I can do to make your night even better handsome?" you cooed in his ear.

"Hoooo? you'd do anything?"

"A n y t h i n g."

"Well then if you're insisting, please yourself on me, that would make me happy", he smugged.

Something about him was so alluring, from his appearance to his melodious voice, it made you want to know how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands move around your curves.

"As you wish dear sir."

Wasting no time, you hopped on his lap, your legs spread on his each side. Your hands resting on his shoulder playing with his hair from the back, you gazed into his eyes, his glasses falling his nose bridge. Irises so blue, as though containing all the blues of the sky to the ocean spanning the galaxy. Hell, they might even be the definition of a black hole due to their insane gravitational pull though which anyone could be sucked into.

Straddling his thighs, you rocked your hips back and forth, you grinded on him.

Just swaying to the music in the background, you traced his jawline with your tongue. Not even once did the man touch you as he just watched you do whatever you wanted. His smirk was like liquid adrenaline was being injected into your blood stream making your body tingle.

"Look at you, ignoring your work to grind on me, what a dirty slut you are", whispering in your ear he grabbed your hips to lift you and turn you so that your ass was right on his growing bulge.

Raising yourself up and down, you bounced on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol and cigarettes in the air, your vision blurry, hands moving down your boobs to your waist. Twerking on him, you felt him growing bigger. You bent back, your head placed on his shoulder, giving him a subtle smile. His hot breath fanned on your face, he smelt like booze with a faint vanilla. Cupping your breasts with his big hands, you slapped them away as you stood up to sit next to him. Kissing his cheek with your one hand on his other side of his face, you felt something entering your bra; the man was stuffing a bundle of money in.

Wingling your fingers, you waved him bye as you were going in the changing room to freshen up yourself. That was a lot of money he gave you, you thought while counting but there was one odd thing in it.

There was his business card in it. There was his phone number in it. Was this his way of telling you to contact him?

Shrugging your thoughts off, you typed him a message.

You : Hey handsome, so what's up with the business card?

Him: When does your shift ends?

You: Midnight.

Him: Great. You'll see a white limousine outside. Wanna come in for a ride at home?

A gorgeous man offering to give you a lift? Damn you couldn't miss this opportunity.

You: Sure thing, see you later.

After fixing your makeup and adjusting your clothes, you went out to slay the night until your little date. You couldn't wait until then.

When your shift was finally over, you rushed to change into your black mini satin dress you wore coming to work as well as ensuring you looked charming.

Your black handbag over your shoulder, you went outside, the fresh air of the cold night hitting your face. Lungs feeling so fresh, you were excited to see him again.

Indeed there was a white limousine parked at the entrance of the club. Upon seeing you arrive, the man asked the driver to unlock the doors so as to let you inside.

"Thank you so much for this offer, Mr?

" Oh please, name's Gojo Satoru but you can just call me Gojo", he said loosening his tie to remove it. Goodness, that was hotter than the core of the earth mixed with the sun's heat.

"Sure thing, Gojo~", seductively you said while you took a place on a seat beside him.

"Care for some wine?" he demanded while pouring a glass.

"Why not?"

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked handing you the glass.

After telling him your address, he signaled the driver who understood the message and pulled up the black windshield to leave both of you in private.

The bitter yet sweet liquid warmed your body making you feel more relaxed after a long work. Throwing your head back, you let the wine disperse in all your veins, Gojo watching you while drinking his.

"I loved your lapdance, it was so erotic and you looked so...hot," he complimented scooching closer to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he removed his glasses to place on the counter nearby. He stroke a finger down your throat, making you shiver. Holy shit that felt good.

"Not going to lie but you caught my attention the moment I saw you dancing on the stage. That golden lingerie hugging your perfect curves was enough to make me drool for you", whispering in your ear while his hand was sliding the strap of your dress off your shoulder.

More shivers down your spine.

Leaning in his touch, your hands reached to unbutton his shirt. Lips on your neck. Hot. Sinful. Goosebumps rose up your flesh. Gojo's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make you swoon. It was so hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body you've ever seen.

"Love what you're seeing?" his voice came out husky.

"Very much", you replied before colliding your lips with his.

Big, warm hands stroke up your torso to cup your breasts. You jerked at the bold move, moaned in his mouth.

Feeling his smirk, he pulled back trailing his tongue down your neck to your collarbone before drawing back. As you straightened your back, his hands unzipping your dress.

His eyes went big when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra. His gaze caressed your plump boobs. Wasting no more seconds, he attacked the area with his mouth making you yelp.

"Fuck's sake, you're so gorgeous", he complimented in between sucking your nipple.

Your stomach clenched. Never had you craved a man with such hunger, never had you been more aware of your own femininity so much.

Pulling away, Gojo turned to take something from the table counter behind him. Taking this moment to take a deep breath to calm your quick heartbeats, you removed your hair from your face. Curious to know what he was doing, you tried to sneak a peak until he turned around to face you, in his hand, an orange slice.

Your head was filled with questions.

"Open your mouth", he ordered and you obeyed, of course.

"stick your tongue out."

Doing as he asked, you took it out as he pressed the fruit on it making its juices spreading throughout your mouth, even spilling down your jaw to your neck. The citric acid running down your skin so slowly as Gojo trailed his tongue down chasing all the droplets, his other hand holding your head by your hair.

"Hmmmm"

"You really like me licking you huh?" Gojo smirked.

"Ooooooohhh"

Unbuckling his pants, he slid them down leaving him in his boxers, his hardened dick pressed, like you were in your soaked panties. Unable to resist the temptation, you pulled them down releasing it from its trap. His dick sprung free, Gojo could no longer contain the heat he felt inside of him to bury himself deep in you.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked before taking off your underwear.

"Why would I after how wet I am for you?"

Loving your answer the man tore the cloth from you revealing your soft folds to him.

"I hope you can handle me, I'm not going to go easy on you~", Gojo warned teasingly placing his member at your entrance.

"Go ahead, let's see if you can wreck me because I'm pretty sure I can handle you", you sneered.

"Heh~ well, we'll see about that in a few", he said before thrusting into you without any warnings.

"Ah!"

Throwing your one leg on his shoulder to gain a better position to fuck you, Gojo was not slow into gaining speed. This man was like an animal, so violently pushing and pulling in and out of you.

Your moans and heavy breaths was so loud, you were sure that the driver was hearing everything but Gojo didn't care about it one single bit. All that mattered to him at that moment was to fuck you into oblivion.

Right before either of you could come, Gojo pulled out to turn your body on the car couch, your boobs pressed against the leather, your ass lifted up as Gojo inserted himself again in you. This time you couldn't help it but let out whimpers.

"What's with the whimpers? I thought you could handle it, didn't you say so?" he ridiculed you.

Lost in a haze, you could barely hear his words, only feel his thrusts deep in you. He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your stomach.

"Can you feel how deep I am into you right now? You like it don't you? Being fucked like the shameless whore you are?"

"Ahhh-yes I do, I do."

Feeling your climax getting closer and closer, you gripped the couch for dear life as you were going crazy with this insane anount of pleasure.

"Ah- Gojo-I-I'm-"

"It's okay my love, you can release it, I'm close too."

It wasn't long before you were screaming his name as he filled your insides with his hot fluid. Pulling your hair as he did so, he collapsed on the couch beside with you laying on top of him rubbing circles on his chest.

Remembering that you had to get off to go home, you took your clothes from the floor and wore them while Gojo was admiring you.

You wished that this could last forever but alas it was just a one night stand as Gojo left you at your home saying a final goodbye to never meet again.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

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spenciegoob · 4 years ago

Text

Triple Edged Sword Part 1

A/N: Hi ! This is going to be a 3 part mini series and oml I AM SO EXCITED. I haven’t written for 6 years so the updates are most definitely going to be generously spaced out. Anyways let’s get into it.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut.. so smutty, and a dash of fluff

Content Warning: sub!spencer, domfem!reader masturbation (female), penetrative sex, hand job, scratching, hair pulling, slapping

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Part Two | Part Three

____

When Spencer Reid looked at her, his eyes were so kind and filled with so much love for someone that had so much pain behind them. He never thought it was possible to love someone as much as he loved her. His puppy dog eyes served as a reminder to both of them of just how innocent the doctor was.

Spencer hated it. Being the brunt of Derek’s virgin jokes made him want to scream from the rooftops, or a little more civilized, tell him he had a girlfriend.

His girlfriend, however, she loved his curious eyes. The way his pupils would dilate when he looked at every inch of her or his eyes would almost double in size whenever she stripped in front of him.

It was absolutely infatuating.

Every time Spencer looked at her, it was like the first time. He couldn’t get enough, and through time he found something else he loved about her body each time he saw it.

He had his doubts for sure, his insecurities sneaking up on him late in the night after she leaves his arms and goes home, but as time progressed, his doubts faded into nothing more than a distant memory when it came to her.

She held the world in her hands, but instead of being selfish and keeping it all for herself, she shared it with him.

Like right now, as she pushed him back until his knees hit the bed and he fell onto the soft cushion with a slight bounce. Already, Spencer was growing hard with anticipation.

“You’ve been a very bad boy today, Spencer.” Even as she scolded him (in the hottest way, may Spencer add), he still looked up at her with the adoration that made it almost impossible to punish him.

Almost impossible.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Please.” What Spencer was pleading for? Not even he knew, but his right hand going to touch her waist gave both of them some idea.

The involuntary act was just as quickly shut down as it started as she backed away and tutted at him.

“Ah, ah, ah Spencer, that is not how we ask for things.” The faux disappointment on her face only made the pleading look on his deepen.

“I’m sorry, miss, it won’t happen again.”

His apology and admission got him the pleasure of her stepping between his parting legs. Spencer didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was as if his body knew how to react to her trance faster than his brain could process.

She softly grasped his jaw, tilting his head back so he had no choice but to make eye contact with her intimidating stare. A soft whimper escaped his lips at even the smallest physical contact. Her touch was electrifying, and he simply couldn’t get enough.

“What am I going to do with you?” Her hand slowly left his jaw, meeting the other one at the top button on his work shirt. Her gaze still bore into him as her fingers worked swiftly to remove his shirt.

That’s what it was about her that intrigued him beyond belief. Every move she made was calculated, meticulous in and out of the bedroom. Maybe that was his reason for looking at her with so much infatuation.

Once Spencer’s shirt was completely unbuttoned, she gave him a form of release when she broke eye contact to stare at his now bare chest. Her eyes scanned every inch of exposed skin.

She loved his body. His frame a sculpture that would put famed artists to shame. Her favorite part, however, was when she dragged her fingernails down his torso.

Starting at his jugular, she lightly scratched all the way down to the waistband of his slacks that were becoming tighter right before her eyes.

She couldn’t focus on that, however. Her focus was on the small red lines that she left in her wake as she softly clawed at his chest. Spencer marked so easy that she couldn’t stop herself from giving him a new one every chance she got.

She didn't need Spencer’s eidetic memory to know what the scene in front of her looked like. His muscles tense under her nails, a new one each time she inched further down. If she closed her eyes, the feeling could serve as her sight like their own special brail.

But she couldn’t close her eyes, not when she got to stare at those lines.

When she finally reached the end of her journey, she pulled her hand away causing Spencer to let out a whiny moan. The sound was music to her ears, and it almost made her give into him right then and there.

Almost made her give in.

“Not yet, baby boy. You haven’t even gotten your punishment for tonight.” This made Spencer let out another hushed whimper.

“Please Y/N, I need you.” Again, Spencer reached his hand to her waist, but this time, he made contact.

He expected her to grab his jaw like last time, or even pull away from his grasp, but to his surprise, she did neither.

It wasn’t until Spencer opened his hooded eyes completely to look at her face did she move.

No, not move; pounce.

The second his eyes met hers, she forcefully gripped the hair on the back of his head and yanked back hard.

The sudden contact caused Spencer’s eyes to roll back, and a pathetic moan to leave his mouth that was permanently wide open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She asked through gritted teeth. Even she surprised herself at the sudden dominance, but with Spencer in front of her with barely open eyes and an eager mouth, god did she love it. And apparently so did he, but at the same time, only one thought clouded his mind.

He was fucked. So utterly fucked.

“I-.. I-” At his stuttering, she quickly released his hair with the softest push, only to bring that same palm to the side of his face.

The loud SMACK! replayed over and over in his head as his hips bucked up involuntary.

Oh.

He liked this more than she thought. Sure, they’ve been a little rough in bed before, their roles always the same. She was there to be pleased, and Spencer was there to please, but she didn’t know how far that line went.

Spencer on the other hand was turned on more than he had ever been. His cock so painfully hard under the constrictions of his work slacks that if he didn’t get some relief soon, he may burst into tears.

Spencer was still facing the left, his eyes closed and trying to control his heavy breathing. That didn’t pass in her book.

She grabbed his jaw again, this time with much more force, and brought their faces inches apart.

“I want you on your knees at the foot of the bed. Do not take your eyes off the wall in front of you, and don’t even think about touching yourself. Sit on your god damn hands if you have to. Do you understand me?” Her words came out so smooth, the calm before the storm.

Spencer nodded his head in response, but when the grip on his jaw tightened, he squeaked out “Yes ma’am.”

She released him, and immediately Spencer was on the move, crawling to where he was instructed to go. She watched closely, making sure he followed her directions to a T.

As his eyes settled on the wall the headboard rested against, she smiled and called out.

“Good boy.” The name made Spencer’s heart flutter and his cock twitch. Now with nothing more to focus on than the wall in front of him did he start to really feel the effects of his neediness.

Whatever she did next would be the death of him.

And boy, was he right!

Out of his peripherals, Spencer could see her start to undress herself. Her eyes only left his for a second to pull her shirt over her head, but Spencer didn’t dare use that split second to take a peak. He was already in enough pain shit to last him a lifetime.

But then she turned around, and he can barely hear the sound of her jeans being unzipped over the blood rushing through his ears.

‘Oh god, Spencer. Whatever you do, do not look,’ he thought to himself, and continuously repeated as she pulled her jeans down slowly. Bending down all the way, her ass on full display, Spencer could see that she was wearing her dark purple lacy thong.

His favorite.

She wasn’t even facing him. How could she possibly tell if he snuck a glance in her direction. It would be over in a second, like ripping off a band-aid, like pulling the trig-

‘No, she’ll know don’t do it.” Spencer’s thoughts were correct. If he were to look, she would turn around to find him blushing a deep shade of red that spread from his neck to his cheeks, and his eyes fully blown. So, with all of his strength and by the force of God, he kept his eyes firmly on the wall. It never looked so dull until right now.

As she slowly came back to a standing position, she turned over her shoulder to see Spencer demonstrating the most self control she’s ever seen. A proud smirk spread across her face, and she finally stalked her way over to the bed slowly.

Spencer felt his palms start to get sweaty from nerves, excitement, arousal and desperation as her body came closer to his direct line of sight. His breathing had become heavy again, and his cock twitched painfully.

When Spencer had his gun drawn on unsubs, he got tunnel vision, but right now when he needed it, that ability seemed to disappear into thin air.

What a cruel magic trick.

Once she was settled with her back resting against the headboard did she speak.

“You can look now, baby boy.” The sight in front of him almost made him come undone right then and there.

Almost made him.

She was sitting up, her arms on either side of her body, her knees were bent, and her legs were wide open. Spencer could see the wet patch from her gathering arousal on her panties, and involuntarily licked his lips.

“Your punishment is the following,” she started as she slowly hooked her fingers under the waistband of her panties. Lifting her hips to start to shimmy them down her legs, she continued, “You’re going to sit there real pretty for me, and you’re going to watch me pleasure myself. You’re not going to look away, close your eyes and most definitely you are not going to touch yourself. Am I making myself clear?”

He was not going to make that mistake again, so instead of nodding he immediately replied with, “Yes ma’am.”

She balled her discarded panties in her hand, and sat up from the incriminating position. As she shimmied her way over to Spencer on her knees, he gulped in anticipation.

“Open up, baby boy.” If she called him that, he would do anything she ever asked him to.

Spencer opened his mouth and slightly stuck his tongue out with a small idea of what was going to come next.

Even with the knowledge of her next move, when the lace of her panties hit his tongue, he couldn’t stop the groan that left him at the contact.

“Don’t wanna hear from you no matter how pretty those sounds are,” she seduced as she stroked his cheek.

Once he was now settled with the makeshift gag and clouded mind, she returned to her compromising position, her pussy on full display for Spencer’s ogling.

She started by softly grasping one of her breasts over the thin lace bra. Her head rolled back at the new sensation, a breathy sigh leaving her parted lips. She kneaded the flesh before added her other hand, squeezing both before pushing them together.

Spencer could only watch in awe as she played with herself the way he wish he could right now. The small whimpers leaving his body were muffled thanks to the gag, and she couldn’t hear them over her own heavy breathing.

When she reached her hands behind her back, and unclasped the bra, Spencer had to forcefully sit on his hands to stop himself from touching either one of them.

She was a goddess on full display, her body had to have been sculpted by the Gods above because no one had the right to be so perfect.

Nobody but her.

The same way she had done to Spencer in what felt like centuries ago, she ran her nails down her torso, only this time she didn’t stop. Her fingers slowly met her aching core, and a moan slipped from her lips at the contact.

She kept her touch featherlight, just enough to gather her arousal on her fingertips. She brought her hand back up to her clit and added more pressure as she circled it slowly.

The soft moans leaving her body were enough for Spencer, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the sight in front of him even if he was allowed to. Her pussy was glistening under the soft light from the bedside lamp, her hair was messily sprawled out around her like a halo, and her body had started to get a light sheen of sweat.

After another minute of teasing her clit, she finally stuck two fingers in her core, her back arching off the bed and letting out the loudest, filthiest moan yet as she did.

“Fuck, baby. It feels so good.” She looked to Spencer to gage his reaction, and found him bright red and hyper focused on where her fingers met her pussy.

Satisfied, she started to slowly pump her fingers in and out of her, curling them to hit her sweet spot each time. Her stomach started to tighten, her impending orgasm arriving faster than usual.

Spencer was a whiny, horny mess on the other side of the bed. He was so painfully hard, and he was sure if he looked, there would be a spot on his boxers from his pre-cum.

Her fingers starting to pump faster, and her other hand gave her breast one last squeeze before traveling down to meet her clit. She rubbed harsh circles in time with her fingers and threw her head back in pleasure as she did so.

“Oh god, I’m gonna- fuck I’m gonna come,” she breathily called out. Her moans getting louder by the second, the coil in her stomach finally snapped.

“Spencer! Oh god!” She screamed as her back arched off the bed, and she came around her fingers. Her finger rubbing circles on her clit started to slow down as her loud moaning turned to heavy breathing.

Spencer’s eyes were almost black as he stared down at her. When she came undone, it was the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

Once her muscles stopped spasming, she relaxed her body and finally looked back at Spencer.

“You did so well, baby boy.” The praise made Spencer’s knees even more weak. Slowly, she crawled her way over to him and removed the panties from his mouth. He tried his best to control his breathing, but each exhale came out jagged and broken.

“Can I touch you now?” He asked timidly and this only made her smile.

“Yes, baby boy. You can to-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because the second the word yes left her mouth, Spencer’s lips were on hers.

The kiss was sloppy and uncalculated, but there was so much passion and love behind every movement. When she grasped the waistband of his slacks and pulled his clothed body against her naked one, Spencer let out a gasp that allowed her to stick her tongue in his mouth.

She explored every inch of his mouth with hers and he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into her trance.

When she pulled away, biting his bottom lip and pulling it back slightly with her, Spencer let out a whine.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said as she pushed his unbuttoned shirt down his arms. Once that was off, she worked on his belt, pulling it out of the loops and throwing it to the floor impatiently.

Once his pants were unbuttoned, she wasted no time reaching in and grasping his cock.

Spencer let out a pornographic moan at the sensation, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

“What do you want, baby boy,” she asked as she continued her ministrations, slowly pumping her hand up and down. Panting now, Spencer did his best to answer.

“Y-you.. Y/N. I want you,” Spencer whined as he started to pat her arm that was in his pants. He looked back down at her with so much desperation and lust, there was no almost this time.

She gave in.

“Only because you’ve been such a good boy for me.” The praise caused Spencer to whimper, and she finally pulled his trousers and boxers down. His cock sprang free, and hit his stomach proudly. The tip was beet red and pre-cum was slowly dripping down the side. It looked painfully delicious.

“Lay down on you back, baby.” Spencer did as told, his head hitting the pillows and he fisted the sheets.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. When she grabbed the base of his cock, Spencer winced and his hands shot up to grasp her hips. She didn’t stop him this time. She ran his tip through her folds teasing him, the evidence of her previous orgasm spreading around it.

Slowly, she sank down, both of them throwing their heads back and moaning at the sensation. She didn’t stop until she was at the hilt, him fully sheathed in her. She took a minute to adjust before lifting her hips excruciatingly slow.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” When all that was left was the tip inside her, she slammed her hips back down. Spencer groaned, his grip on her hips tightening.

Her slow pace continued, teasing him just enough to get him to pat her hips again like he did earlier.

“Please Y/N, please faster.” How could she say no to that tone of voice?

She started to move her hips with feverish intent, both of their stomachs tightening as they slowly ran towards the edge together.

Spencer didn’t know where to look. He could watch the way his cock disappeared into her tight cunt, or the way her breasts bounced in his face in time with her hips, or her blissed out face, mouth wide open and eyes hooded.

All of it brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“F-fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna.. I’m gonna...”

“Me too, baby. Come for me.” With her permission, his hips thrust up to meet hers as he shoots his cum deep in her. The sensation was the final push, and she followed immediately after, milking him of everything he could give.

She collapsed on his sweaty chest, both of them heavy panting, but neither willing to move.

“I love you so much.” She said it so simply, but still it made Spencer’s heart flutter. They’ve said it so many times, but every time he still got giddy.

“I love you too,” he said and kissed the top of her head. They could’ve fallen asleep just like that, because it didn’t matter how sticky with sweat their body was, or the very compromising position they were still in.

They were in each other’s arms, and that was everything for both of them.

____

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

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Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~3.6k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: This got really long so I split it in half lmfao, expect part 2 in a couple of days.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

Senpai, I like you.

As you continued to sit courtside, watching Karasuno’s team overtake the opposition led by your boyfriend Daichi Sawamura, your eyes briefly settled on Hinata, the orange-haired first year. When the ball finally sailed over to him, and he hit it with an inhuman speed, the middle blocker’s signature, you thought briefly about his frank and surprisingly serious confession earlier in the day. How bold! You hadn’t taken it seriously of course - your affection towards him was nothing short of motherly. Plus, he was well aware of how serious you were about Daichi.

What an odd joke, you thought, but you had played along with it despite the fact that you knew he meant what he said, dismissing him with a laugh and a pat on the head.

I like you too, Hinata! You’re very fun to be around!

His smile had only wavered slightly at your words but you could feel his eyes get just a little darker as the twang of rejection set in.

But he was just a baby and this was just puppy love. He’d get over it eventually, right? He’d eventually find someone his own age.

Suddenly across the court, you could feel Hinata’s gaze fall on you again, and he smiled again, but this time it was different. Maybe it was bleed over from the boundless confidence and determination he had whenever he stepped on the court, but something about the way his eyes flashed just for a moment as he looked at you made your face grow just a little bit warm.

[Years pass.]

“So when’s the wedding?!”

Your grandmother’s voice blared through the phone in raucous joy as you laughed and tried to field her many follow-up questions. She, like almost everyone else you had told, was incredibly excited about your proposal, and despite the fact that it was only three days later, the high was already starting to fade and you were getting tired of answering the same questions.

When’s the wedding? Where’s the wedding? How excited are you? Are you already pregnant? Are you going to move into a house?

Between your grandmother, your parents and siblings, your wonderful friends, your neighbors - honestly, literally everyone and their mother - you were feeling incredibly supported during this time. But still, somehow, something felt wrong, and you couldn’t exactly place why.

Once you had finally answered Grandma’s questions to her satisfaction, you hung up the phone and flopped backwards back into your bed with a sigh. Holding up one hand in front of you to display your engagement ring, you inspected the stone carefully, letting it glimmer in the slowly fading sunlight beaming in through your bedroom window.

“Mrs. Sawamura,” you tried out the name in a soft whisper. It had a nice sound to it, ____ Sawamura. This was what you had always wanted, ever since you had met and started dating in high school. You’d always wanted to support his dreams, whether it was excelling at schoolwork, volleyball, joining the police force… and what better way to do it by agreeing to be his wife and spending the rest of your life with him? So many years had passed with you by his side, this was only the next natural step.

So what exactly was this reticence inside of you? You knew he would be good to you, no matter what, even if you felt that something about your relationship had already started to lose its spark. He had been working longer days and later nights, leaving very little time for you, and with all this time left alone, sometimes you regretted not having spent more time in high school or even later on making friends outside of those people he knew. The problem was that the volleyball team was so warm from the start, and you were so invested in caring for them as Daichi was… maybe this was some form of delayed empty nest syndrome, solidifying as the members all grew up and grew apart.

You checked the time on the small wall clock before you. Daichi wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, and again you couldn’t fault him for this. The ring on your finger looked quite expensive, so he’d clearly worked hard to afford it.

Maybe you would draw.

Minutes passed, maybe even an hour, and as the sun finally set, you set down your pencil and reached over to your window to close the curtains so that the neighbors couldn’t peer into your home once you turned on the lights. Clicking on the bedside lamp, you settled back into a cross-legged position before your large sketchbook again, now taking a second look at your drawing.

An ordinary but hyper realistic-looking crow now peered back at you, almost as if it were wondering why you had decided on putting it to paper out of all the things that could have come to mind. You looked at it carefully and remembered a single fact about crows:

Crows never forget a face.

---

The next morning was Sunday and Daichi was fortunately off work for the day so you sat with your new fiancé at the kitchen table, listening to him talk excitedly about the week as the two of you shared a large omelette and munched on toasted bread.

“Honestly, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I see, babe, it’s really something.”

His laugh was always hearty and you couldn’t deny the sparkle in his brown eyes as he shared work shenanigans with you, so while you were uncomfortable with the idea of him being in harm’s way so often as a police officer, you couldn’t help but smile with him whenever he did. His happiness was infectious, especially when he held your hand tightly and squeezed it just like this very moment, interlocking his fingers with yours as he ate with his other hand.

Once he finished eating, he leaned over to kiss you on the forehead, threading his fingers through your hair.

“Thanks for breakfast, baby,” he whispered, his voice smooth and lowered an octave. With his gaze, he drank up the image of you only in his oversized t-shirt and panties before pulling you towards him so that you straddled his hips as he sat on the chair. With you pressed close to him like this, between his hardening cock and the edge of the table, you could feel your breath hitch ever so slightly in your throat. Years had passed and you were still like this - you were still the shy, bashful girl who dared to date the captain of the volleyball team.

“Daichi…,” you trailed off, as he started to litter soft kisses on your collarbones.

“Do you want to uh…,” he paused and pulled back, a smile spreading across his features, as one of his hands found its way up your shirt to palm your breast, “... start off our morning right?”

He didn’t bother waiting for your reply before his lips met yours for dessert.

---

Parted thighs and many soft sighs later, the two of you lay side by side in pleasant exhaustion. You stared at the ceiling, your cheeks flushed as you pulled air into your overworked lungs. Daichi’s head found its way to rest in the softness of your abdomen and you languidly caressed his hair, your body still buzzing from lovemaking.

Daichi was clearly apologizing for passing out the moment he came home, you knew, and you appreciated his thoughtfulness. As you continued to softly scratch his scalp, the soft glow of the late morning sun warmed the two of you up even further and you knew that this feeling had to be what ballads were all about.

Love.

You loved Daichi. Right?

His fingers traced up and down your thighs, just barely avoiding the dampness of him releasing inside you just moments earlier slowly leaking from your center.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, as his fingers traveled your skin. He always told you this, reminded you were the most wonderful girl in the world.

And he was the most wonderful man on Earth. How incredible it was that you had found each other, you thought, as you lay together for what felt like hours and found yourself dozing off in each other’s embrace.

Yes, this was enough.

---

“You don’t have to go all out babe, it’s just the guys!” Daichi’s loud voice carried from outside the bathroom as you perfected your mascara. You ignored him with a playful roll of the eye even though you couldn’t see him, focusing on perfecting a winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. It had been a while since you had dressed up, and it didn’t hurt to really go all out. This was a sort of mini-reunion anyway and what better way to make your fiancé proud than to make all his friends jealous?

“I thought you said I was pretty this morning,” you called out, as you dabbed perfume behind your ears and at the center of your chest. “Don’t you want everyone else to know?”

With that you posed dramatically at the end of the hallway, cat-walking with a face so straight it was ridiculous until you reached Daichi who stood at the front of your door, holding in a laugh. You burst into laughter once you reached him, falling into his chest.

“Let’s go see your old team!” You said, quickly pushing him away playfully when his eager hands settled too comfortably on your ass. He nodded, deciding to grab your hand instead as your cab approached.

Your car ride was short and your mind started to wander as you idly rubbed the knuckles of Daichi’s hand with your thumb. You remembered him telling you vaguely about one of his teammates returning to Japan, prompting the reunion, the orange-haired one named Hinata who you recalled was nothing short of a ball of sunshine and had confessed to you once.

Senpai, I like you.

Well, he would probably have gotten over that crush by now. It had been years.

The restaurant was loud when you entered, following Daichi closely. A table full of young men almost erupted in praise once the two of you approached.

“Captain!”

Tanaka, who you recognized easily from his shaved head and brash attitude came sailing over to essentially crush Daichi in a headlock, but before he could reach him, the orange-haired boy who had just graced your thoughts a couple of minutes earlier beat him to it, slapping him heartily on the back.

“You finally made it! Did you miss me?” Hinata said, with a grin and for a split second, you thought you saw his eyes flit to you. Without warning, your mind started to race, realizing that immediately your face had started to warm as you watched your goofy little underclassman with a crush talk and tease your fiancé animatedly-

And to your dismay, you realized you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

---

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had you unsettled throughout the lively dinner - was it the fact that even though you sat by Kiyoko, the previous team manager, she seemed to be more focused on eating quietly, a smile on her face as she basked in the glory days with the boys? Or was it the fact that you could see Hinata’s rare but noticeable furtive glances towards you, the ones that Daichi seemed to miss now that he was more than a little drunk judging by how red he was in the face? Maybe it was the fact that you were trying to understand what was this sudden gravitational pull you felt towards Hinata at first glance, something that made very little sense to you and seemed oh-so-very-wrong.

Was it the fact that while he was still shorter than average for a volleyball player, his time in Brazil had tanned his skin nicely, bringing out the well toned muscles in his shoulders or arms? Or that while his eyes were still bright and kind, the angles in his face had grown sharper and his smile had made the very slight shift from determined to confident and almost even cocky?

What the hell was it that had you suddenly so distracted?

You fiddled with the ring on your finger above the table between bites of grilled meat and poured sake, trying desperately to make small talk with Kiyoko, only to be disappointed by how unsuccessful you were in engaging yourself in meaningful conversation.

Eventually you decided to get up for some fresh air, giving Daichi a little nudge on the back to let him know you were stepping out and took a seat in a small chair set outside the chilly restaurant meant for smokers. It was nice to have a little more quiet, and you briefly pondered if Daichi would be okay with you going home first.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and it was about to get way worse since it turned out that Hinata had followed you out.

“Heya!” Hinata’s voice startled you as he approached, quickly taking a seat beside you. Your face flushing for the second time today (you blamed it on the alcohol, of course), you eked out a hello, mentally shaming yourself for being so awkward.

“You were quiet in there...”

“A-ah, yes! It’s just I haven’t really seen any of you guys in a while and we weren’t close, so it was a bit hard to follow the conversations…,” you trailed off, not making eye contact. You decided that a good way to politely add distance would be to re-introduce yourself even though you knew exactly who he was now, and you knew he remembered you.

You stuck your hand out to greet him formally with a handshake.

“I don’t know if you still remember me but I’m ____ -”

“I know,” Hinata interrupted curtly, without looking directly at you and your hand fell to your side slowly and returned to your lap. He stared out at the street with his face unsmiling, a look that appeared almost unnatural for someone like him and then turned back to you to give you a wide smile anew.

“How have you been? I didn’t think I’d see you here again!” He was cheerful again and polite as always, but for a moment you felt mildly insulted, as though he’d implied that maybe he didn’t expect you to be with Daichi for this long.

Maybe you were just overreacting.

...

Yeah, you were just overreacting.

“Mmm, things have been great!” You replied earnestly, fiddling subconsciously with your engagement ring again, only to catch him laying eyes on it but making no comment. For some reason, you didn’t feel like it was worth mentioning either.

Silence sat between the two of you as you stared out into the road again together. Two strangers who’d known each other briefly. You wished he would go back in and the night would be over and you could forget the fact that you were suddenly attracted to him.

Ah, that was it. And that would be it.

Hinata spoke again and your heart thumped at his simple question, “Are you happy?”

You gave him a look of confusion but you could already tell what he meant just by the look in his eyes. The same look he gave his opponents on the court, the one that demanded to be taken seriously.

While, it wasn’t exactly the same look that he gave you when you brushed his confession off those many years ago, it was pretty darn close.

“Y-yes?” You asked, feigning incomprehension. He smiled in response but not with his eyes.

“When’s the wedding?”

The shift of his tone back to excitement was jarringly unnatural, especially since you hadn’t even brought up your wedding, and now you wondered how one person could be confident enough to appear out of nowhere and ask bold questions to a complete stranger.

“I’m not sure yet… we haven’t planned yet.”

“Great!” He interjected suddenly, and rose to his feet. “I still have time!”

Time?

He turned to re-enter the restaurant as you looked at him in shock and incredulity. “Excuse me, time to do what?” You asked, immediately questioning why those words had come out of your mouth the moment they did.

Hinata turned to face you, his smile only mildly sinister when compared to the seriousness of his gaze.

“Time to convince you, of course. I've always liked you from the start, ___, and I think… actually I know that I can treat you better than Daichi does.”

And with that he turned the corner, re-entering the restaurant and leaving you in a complete and utter shock.

---

Who would believe you?

Sweet little Hinata threatening to break up your upcoming marriage?

Sweet little Hinata planning to steal your heart right under his senpai’s nose?

Sweet little Hinata texting you suddenly at 11pm the next day while you got ready for bed just to let you know that he was “thinking of you”?

You looked at the phone incredulously, your other hand still holding your toothbrush wondering how to best respond to the message. The obvious answer was to block his number - you weren’t exactly sure how he’d gotten it anyway, but as your finger hovered over the button, you paused.

Then Daichi turned the corner of your bathroom door and startled, you fumbled and dropped your phone.

“You okay, Shakes?” He joked, as he reached for your phone, but you grabbed it quickly, locking it and placing it facedown on the bathroom sink. You quickly nodded, continuing to brush rapidly.

“Can you believe he grew taller?”

Your eyes rose.

“H-he?”

Daichi laughed. “Hinata, of course. He was such a shrimp, remember? I mean he’s still not that tall, but he definitely looks a lot more like an adult, right?”

“Y-yeah…,” you agreed, sheepishly, as Daichi hopped into bed, leaving you to squirm at the sight of your own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

---

The next morning, you woke up to no new messages on your phone and breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that your non-response had sent the point across to the young volleyball player. With that odd guilt now off your shoulders, you occupied yourself with the first steps of wedding planning, spending most of the day browsing through websites and calling companies. You were determined to do this mostly yourself and do it right.

You weren’t exactly sure what you were trying to prove but over the next couple of weeks, you dove headfirst into flowers and venues and elaborate table accents and fancy invitations and ignoring Hinata’s messages that had now upgraded to thirst traps that kept your eyes lingering on the phone way too long, while Daichi spent more and more time at work, and less and less time with you, until suddenly…

“Daichi!”

For the fourth night in a row, Daichi had come home in the middle of the night and wordlessly crawled into bed beside you as you tossed and turned waiting for him to come home, because that was all you did: waste time until he returned to you, of course. What else could you do? Your world was so small, after all.

And it would only get smaller once you got married. Your miniscule sphere of existence centered around Daichi and you were beginning to resent it.

Was that the reason you were starting to save every one of Hinata’s dirty pictures?

Dirty was an overstatement - you had seen everything up to his V-line and while your artist’s eye could now trace every single bit of his anatomy from memory, you couldn’t say anything he sent you was truly risqué, could you? Maybe he sent those pics to every girl on his phone, or maybe you were different...

That was besides the point. The point was that suddenly the man who lay beside you every night was no longer doing it for you.

“___,” Daichi whispered groggily, revealing that he really had just passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. “I really need to sleep… what’s the problem?”

You faltered, unable to come up with something to explain why you’d just thrown a mini-tantrum.

“... there’s no problem, I was just… never mind.”

Too many things bubbled inside you and were left unspoken that night, and so in order to express yourself, you settled on, or rather on top, something way worse.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect it to be this easy.”

Hinata didn’t mean to be offensive - howcouldhebehewassuchasweetboyafterall - but the pang of guilt in your chest said otherwise, as you inhaled and exhaled softly under the weight of his muscular body pressed against yours.

Maybe you felt bad, but the feeling was short-lived because once Hinata’s fingers dug into the flesh of your hips and gripped you tightly, firmly, so much so in fact you were sure it was just to prove that for all these years you had really belonged to him, he thrust into you so sharply and precisely that you let out a gasp as the intense pleasure blinded you.

“S-Shoyo!”

“Say it louder,” was all he whispered as he flipped you over before slamming you down onto him hard, sending another wave of intense stimulation through you.

You screamed his name again, tears now coming to your eyes as he bucked his hips against you, bouncing you up and down his deliciously large cock at a brutal, energetic pace, knowing very well that you couldn’t keep up from the short, unintelligible sounds now leaping out of your throat.

“You’ve always been mine, ___. You just didn’t know it yet.”

Warm wetness streaming from your face almost as much as from the space between your legs, you couldn’t find the words to protest. Did you want to protest? Was he right? Wasn’t he right?

Your mind was too hazy for thought, and instead you let selfish desire overtake you for the rest of the night.

#mae.writing #hinata x reader #daichi x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #sawamura daichi x reader #hinata x reader x daichi #not sfw #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo #sawamura daichi #hinata #daichi #daichi smut #hinata smut #series: look at me senpai

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punkrockmads · 3 years ago

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Found Family

Abby x F! Reader Mini Series

Warnings: Small bit of angst, violence, this chapter is a little bit longer

Chapter Four; Light Of Our Lives

*A MONTH LATER*

Abby has been such a joy to have in my life. I've moved out of the guest room and into Abby's bedroom, the two of us rapidly growing closer over the past month. We've had a couple little bickering matches over whether I should be doing patrol at three months pregnant, but that's to be expected for any couple worried for their baby. She's been a huge help with the baby, always staying by my side during my bouts of morning sickness and my occasional nightmares. We still haven't told Lev, waiting for my baby bump to get a little bigger before telling him. Lev is such a sweet kid, always energetic and happy. He and Abby are always jabbing at each other with their sarcasm and jokes. I sometimes cut in with my own teasing remarks, usually teaming up with Lev to harass Abby. The other day, Lev and I got up early just to sneak downstairs and hit Abby with pillows while she was cooking. Scrambled eggs ended up all over the floor and she made us clean it up but we all thought it was hilarious.

I sit behind Abby on our bed, braiding her soft blonde hair back as she talks.

"So we fell like a thousand feet through a glass ceiling and into a fucking swimming pool." Abby chuckles, telling me the story of the sky bridges for the twentieth time. It's one of my favorites, I'm always asking her to tell it.

"It was not a thousand feet!" Lev yells from his bedroom across the hall. Abby and I burst into a fit of laughter. "It was like ten!"

"Okay well it FELT like a thousand!" Abby yells back between laughs. "Anyways." She sighs, feeling my fingertips brush the back of her neck lightly as I continue to braid her hair. "I crawl out of the pool and lay there sprawled out on my back and Lev looks at me like I'm crazy! He's just up and ready to keep moving as if we didn't just almost die!" The two of us laugh as I use a hair tie to hold the ends of her braid together. I lean forward, placing a kiss on the back of her neck.

"All done." I mumble against her freckled skin. Abby turns around, pressing a sweet kiss on my cheek.

"Thanks, babe." Abby smiles. "You ready to head out?" Abby and I have early patrol this morning. It's rare we get assigned together since Abby is much stronger so she's usually doing assignments that put her muscles to use. Things like helping out with construction, moving heavy equipment, sometimes even helping people move furniture in and out of homes. When Abby does go outside of the base, it's for a supply run that's in a more dangerous area. That part always scares me, knowing they intentionally send her places with unknown numbers of infected. I know why they do it, though. She's more than capable of protecting herself and her group.

"Yeah." I nod. "Just gotta get my boots on." I stand up, getting ready to leave the room when Abby grabs my wrist.

"Uh, babe?" I look back at her, confused. "What's goin' on with your buttons there?" She asks, referring to my black button-up shirt. I look down, noticing two of the top buttons were missing.

"Oh!" I laugh. "So THIS is the shirt with the missing buttons!" I shrug, searching through the clothes in our closet. I find a grey sleeveless shirt hanging up on Abby's side of the closet. I glance back, seeing her making the bed. I take off my button-up, letting it fall to the floor as I take the sleeveless shirt off of its hanger and pull it on. It's a little too big, but I tuck it into my jeans and it fits a lot better. I pick up the button-up, spinning around and tossing it at Abby. It hits her in the face.

"Hey!" Abby looks over at me with a playful glare before freezing. She points at me. "Is- is that my shirt?"

"Perhaps." I grin, doing a little pose with my hands on my hips. "New fashion statement?" I chuckle. Abby walks over to me, putting her hands on my hips. She pecks my lips lightly. I place my hands over hers.

"You're such a dork." She smiles. "C'mon. We gotta get going."

"Alriiiight." I groan. Abby grabs my hand, pulling me into the hall. "Lev, don't be late for school!" I yell from the stairs.

"I'm never late!" Lev yells back.

"Literally last week!" Abby reminds him.

"Fuck you!" Lev replies as Abby and I laugh. I kneel down by the door, putting my brown leather boots on and tying the laces. Abby watches with a playful smile. I grab my dark blue backpack and bow before looking up at her.

"What?" I question, standing back up.

"Nothing." Abby shrugs. She puts a hand on my stomach. "Pretty soon you won't even be able to tie your own shoes."

"Six more months!" I sigh. "And then this little bean will be the reason we don't get a good night's sleep for years."

"I can't wait." Abby chuckles, following me out the front door. The two of us head to the main gate, spotting a few people waiting around talking with each other. "Get us signed out?" Abby asks.

"If you grab us lunch." I reply,

"Deal." Abby agrees. She lets go of my hand, walking off to the right while I continue forward to the booth. A woman with long red hair and blue eyes looks up at me.

"Oh, hey Y/N!" She greets, setting down the clipboard she was holding. "How're you doing?"

"Hey, Kayla." I smile. "I'm doing pretty great! They've got you workin' at the booth instead of the farm?" I pick up the clipboard and pen, signing my name and Abby's on the sign out sheet.

"Yep." Kayla tsks. "Shawn's sick today so I said I'd fill in. Nice break from being covered in dirt all day."

"And the booth is always shady." I shrug. "I'd say Shawn's got us beat!"

"Got that right." Kayla laughs. I jump when I feel a hand on my lower back. Kayla laughs harder. I don't even have to turn around to know who the culprit is. "Hey, Abby!" Kayla greets.

"Hey there." Abby replies, looking at me with a mischievous grin. "I'd love to stay and talk but the rest of our group is here. We gotta head out." I reach up to fix a loose strand of Abby's hair that's fallen in front of her face. She's a couple inches taller than me so I stand on my toes to make to easier.

"Be safe out there, you two!" Kayla calls as I follow Abby toward the group.

"Will do!" Abby turns around to wave back. The two of us join the rest of the group, piling into the back of a military truck and heading out to the first checkpoint where we'll all split into pairs and take separate routes.

Ten minutes later, we get to the first checkpoint, an old bar. I hop out of the truck, Abby following close behind. We get inside, everyone double checking their gear and partnering up.

"Okay." I sigh, everyone looking to me for instructions. I'm not exactly sure why, but Abby says I'm a natural born leader and that they trust my judgement. I had taken on the role as unofficial team leader without even realizing till she had pointed it out to me a few weeks ago. "Our team's covering the north routes today. The northeast route's been a little more active lately so I want four people to take that one just in case things get hairy. Any volunteers?"

"Mike and I can do it." A woman with brown hair says.

I nod. "Alright. Who's going with Mike and Bonnie?"

"We are." A man in the back says, gesturing to him and his partner.

"Okay, Mike, Bonnie, Chris, and Eric on northeast. Hayley, I want you and Moira to take north, okay?" Moira nods and Hayley holds a thumbs up. "Abby and I will take northwest. Be safe out there, guys. Be smart." With that, we all head off on our routes. Abby follows me, making sure to keep an eye on the treeline. The woods around us are full of life. Birds, deer, squirrels, insects... they all create a beautiful melody; the song of nature.

"Y'know..." Abby starts, pulling me out of my thoughts. "It's pretty hot watching you boss people around."

I scoff, kicking the dirt on the path as I walk. "I don't boss anyone around!"

Abby walks beside me, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You so do!"

"Shut up!" I shove her playfully. She laughs, lightly shoving me back.

"You love me." She hums, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles lightly.

"I do." I hum back. We walk for a bit longer before we reach the first lookout, a gas station attached to a mechanic's garage. We sit and talk for a few minutes, writing in the sign in notebook that there were no signs of infected. After dawdling long enough, the two of us make our way to the second lookout. Ten minutes into our journey, I spot something moving in the trees.

"To our right." I whisper, both Abby and I ducking behind a bush and aiming our guns toward the movement. Just as I'm about to move up closer to try and get an angle, I hear maniacal screaming. I spin around to see a runner charging at me. I have no time to react as I'm shoved violently to the ground with the runner pinning me down, using all of my strength to keep the runner from biting me.

"Y/N!!" Abby screams. Before she can shoot the runner, a second one comes out from the trees. Abby quickly shoots that one before rushing back to my side and ripping the runner off of me. "You motherfucker!" She growls, slamming the runner to the ground and crushing his skull with her boot, the blood splattering on her and me. I lay there frozen, feeling like the wind got knocked out of me. "Shit!" Abby whisper yells. She kneels down beside me as I gasp for air. "Are you okay? Did it bite you?" She's panicking, frantically searching for any sign of injury. I grab her forearms, keeping her from moving them.

"I'm okay, Abby." I assure her when I catch my breath. "I'm okay." Abby grabs my shoulders, helping me sit up.

"Oh shit, your head is bleeding." Abby says, seeing the blood drip down the back of my neck. I feel the warm, sticky crimson flow down the back of my shirt. "We gotta get you back."

"The baby." I whisper, feeling lightheaded as Abby hands me her bag and gets in front of me, helping me onto her back. "We gotta check on the baby."

"We will, sweet girl." Abby says, walking as fast as she can while I cling to her like a little backpack. "Just hang on." I rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes as she carries me all the way back to the checkpoint. From there, she uses the radio to call an emergency pickup. She leaves a note for the rest of the team before helping me into the car and telling the driver to get us back as fast as possible. The car ride is a blur. I lean against Abby while she presses her jacket against the back of my head to keep me from bleeding out. I keep my hand on my stomach the whole time. Finally, we get to the infirmary. A nurse cleans me up and stitches the back of my head, giving me water and crackers to help with the dizziness. When I tell her I'm pregnant, she immediately understands my concern and checks the baby's vitals and preps me for an ultrasound.

"Ultrasound?" I ask as the nurse moves the hem of my shirt up to the edge of my bra, exposing my tiny bump. I've never heard anything like that before.

Abby takes my left hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. "It's kinda like a camera." She explains. "It's so they can see the baby. I read about it in a book." As I'm looking at her, I feel something cold and sticky being rubbed lightly on my stomach. I flinch, looking back at the nurse who is applying a clear jelly-like liquid to my stomach. Abby immediately senses my panic, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. The bed creaks beneath her as she moves. "It's okay." She mumbles against my temple. "It's just to help the camera." I take a deep breath, sighing as I nod, letting Abby know I'm okay. I peck her lips lightly before she sits back up.

"You two make a cute couple." The nurse says, reaching for what I assume is the camera. Abby thanks her as I laugh a little. "You ready to see your baby?" I nod eagerly, Abby doing the same. The nurse presses the camera against my stomach lightly, moving it around as what looks like static appears on the camera. "There." She says finally, holding the camera in one spot. "See that little blob that's kinda shaped like a bean? That's your baby." I gasp, suddenly feeling tears running down my cheeks.

"Abby." I whisper, staring at the little being on the monitor. "Are you seeing this?" I hear Abby sniffle, looking up to see her crying, too.

"That's our baby, honey." She sniffs. I take her other hand in mine, squeezing both of them. "That's our tiny human in there." She's just as amazed as I am.

"It's perfect." I say, laughing a bit at our reactions. The nurse simply gives a proud smile.

"The baby's perfectly healthy, no sign of injuries." The nurse says. Abby and I feel immediate relief. "If you want, I can print out a picture of it for you. This old equipment still works pretty well.

"Absolutely!" Abby says, barely waiting for the nurse to finish her sentence. The nurse cleans off the gel, prints out a photo of our baby, and hands it to me before Abby and I head out to go home. The entire walk home is spent gushing over the photo, feeling like a warm, beautiful light is shining down upon us. When the two of us get home, Abby closes the door before grabbing my face and kissing me hard. My hands instinctively move to her cheeks, my eyes closing as I feel Abby's lips on mine, curving into a smile. She pulls away, leaving me breathless. "You are incredible." She says, only loud enough for me to hear. She strokes my cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. "I love you... so fucking much."

"I love you too." I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers. She kisses me again, this time gently, as if I might break if she kisses too hard. She pulls away after a few seconds, taking my hand and guiding me into the living room. I sit beside her on the couch, my legs resting across her lap and my body leaning into hers. We sit there in peaceful silence, Abby and I staring at the photo of our baby while she rubs gentle circles on my stomach with her warm hand. Just as I'm about to fall asleep, the front door opens.

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #tlou #lgbtq #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #lev tlou

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unfinishedsweetsimphony · 4 years ago

Text

oh, it’s you!

[requested by anon]

~Sapnap x Reader~

Summary: After all this time, the red string of fate led to him...who knew?

Genre: uGH FLUFF AGAIN with a sprinkle of angst

Pronouns: They/Them (Gender-Neutral)

Warnings: Cursing and capital letters but other than that there shouldn’t really be any.

[a/n: First Sapnap fic, LET’S GOO!! Ugh, red string of fate was a bit of challenge to write but also fun. This is loosely based on the Dream and Sapnap meetup (i’m still in doubt because the vlog fiasco gave me trust issues) I apologize for the late posting, school is already on my ass. Thank you anon for requesting, I hope you like this <3 Edit: Sapnap expressed that he does not like being referred to his first name so I will be making changes!]

(Y/N) remembers the first time they saw their string. It was a cold winter day in their quiet town. (Y/N) was just a small child then, giggling as they make mini snowmen to accompany their snow angels. A line of red startled them, thinking that they hurt themselves or someone else. Upon close inspection it was a string with one end wrapped around their left pinkie and the other end trailing off into the unknown.

Unsurprisingly, they freaked out because their kid brain thought that someone caught them on a fishing line and is about to eat them, so they ran home and told their parents. (Y/N) tried to show it to their parents, but they couldn’t see it. That didn’t change the knowing glimmer in their parent’s eyes. A look was exchanged between them before they sat (Y/N) down to explain soulmates to them.

After that day (Y/N) were so excited to meet their soulmate. They remember going around their class telling their friends about it. They remember their friends getting their strings too and following the thread.

(Y/N) remembers feeling left behind when their friends started find their soulmates. (Y/N) remembers running to find the other end of the string, the heavy backpack and heart slowing them down just a little. ‘Maybe around this corner?’, they thought as they went down another road. They started looping the string around their hand with hope that it would go taut, only to be discouraged by the red glove reaching their shoulder. The feeling of loneliness and frustration setting in as they grow up.

◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦

Now, fast forward to college. (Y/N) is staring at their string instead of doing their essay. They thought about following the string again, but they’re broke and on borrowed time at the moment. (Y/N) lets out a tired sigh as their fingers mindlessly play with the string. ‘If I stare at my computer screen long enough, the essay might just write itself.’, (Y/N) squints at the blank word document. Then a notification interrupted their glaring.

‘Yo, you online? Dream and I are playing bedwars.’, reads Sapnap’s message. ‘Omg dude it’s almost like there is a status thing on people’s profile for a reason 🙄’, (Y/N) teased. ‘Well it’s green now, so join the damn call 🙄🙄🙄”, he fired back. (Y/N) decided to fuck it and do the essay later, and joined the call.

◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦

After a couple of rounds of bedwars, Dream brought up the idea of meeting up. “Yeah, like we’ve all been friends for a while now and it’s about time y’know?”, Dream casually knocks off a purple player off their base. Sapnap and (Y/N) agreed. The trio continue talking about it more before deciding on a place to meet. They stop playing Minecraft and start looking for accommodations and plane tickets.

(Y/N) grimaced at the price of their plane ticket. “Guys, I don’t think I can afford this trip.”, the sound of their crestfallen voice concerning the boys. “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’ll meet you halfway.”, Sapnap offered, “I’m still riding off of Dream’s donation money”, which earned a wheeze from the man. (Y/N) thanked him profusely and they decided to split the bill on the Airbnb three ways.

“Ok guys, I really got to go. I got to pack and I have an essay due.”, (Y/N) stretched to crack their bones back into place after sitting for so long. “Sounds good. Good luck, I hope you finish!”, Sapnap smiled. “That’s what she said!”, (Y/N) kids, “See ya Clay. Bye, bye Sappy!”

Sapnap is relieved that they couldn’t see the dumb grin on his blushing face. Clay could tell anyway and teased him about it accordingly.

◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦

Today’s the day. (Y/N) just landed and made their way to baggage claim. They decide to call up Nick since he was picking them up. “Hey! How was your flight?”, Sapnap greeted. (Y/N) grabbed their luggage off the conveyor, “It was alright. To be honest, I fell asleep for most of the flight. But I woke up before the plane touched down so I got some cool pictures of the sky and city.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”, Sapnap parked the car he rented and headed towards (Y/N)’s gate, “I’m on my way to you right now-”

“Sapnap, my string.”, (Y/N) stared at the red line. Taut. “My soulmate is nearby.”, (Y/N) is in shock. Sapnap snapped them out of it, “Well? What are you waiting for? Go after them!”

And they did. (Y/N) booked it through the airport, their baggage clumsily rolling behind them. The red sting string soon led them to the gate’s entrance. Their eyes searching frantically until they landed on a hand with a red string wrapped around their pinky.

The person turned around and it’s...Sapnap.

“Oh, it’s you.”, Sapnap smiled at (Y/N)’s gaping stare. (Y/N) raised their hand, their eyes motioned towards his hands before he finally got the hint, “Oh. OH, IT’S YOU!”

#dream fucking lost it #dream: I KNEW IT #karl is punching the air rn #feedback is always appreciated #sapnap #sapnap x reader #sapnap imagines #sapnap fanfiction #sapnap oneshots #mcyt #dream smp #tw cursing #tw capital letters

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siriushxney · 4 years ago

Text

* . PAPER RINGS !

pairing — lando norris x reader

rating — fluff

wordcount — 2.3k

warnings — cursing (it's me who are we kidding)

song — taylor swift | paper rings

note ! — before y'all jump down my throat about "what the hell is a toque” — it's a hat. us canadians call it a toque. also this is long overdue, but I hope you like it!

when the light of day melted into the dark of night, and long, tiring shifts slowly came to an end, it wasn't an odd sight to see large groups of people piling into bars for a drink or several. with an extra hour and a half added onto your normal shift time due to your bosses inability to do what he was supposed to do — leaving stacks of paperwork you had to go through, along with a few of your other colleagues.

now walking into the packed bar — bags long forgotten in your cars, you couldn't find it in yourself to cringe at the strong smell of alcohol that burned your nose as you walked through the door, nor did you care for the way the heels of your feet stuck to the ground with every step you took.

after a day like today, you weren't sure if you'd mind anything.

sheila — one of your colleagues raised a stiff hand and slammed it down on the counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. “we need like, fifteen shots stat!” the bartender immediately got to work, pouring glass after glass — sliding them in front of the five of you, before turning to serve another guest.

“that asshole gonna get my foot down his throat if he dumps that much paperwork on us again,” she downed her first shot and reached for another one, “all of that should have been sorted out in the morning, not thrown onto us as we were packing up,” the rest of you agreed, downing a shot quickly as you tried to keep up with the loud mouthed girl.

you turned your head away from the conversation that had started between the others, choosing to stare curiously at the screen in the corner displaying reruns of a race that took place today.

feeling a body skim yours as a group of men slid into the barspace to the left of you — a majority of them sporting an orange and blue item of clothing, something you had connected quickly to the orange and blue car that had been on screen moments earlier.

looking back to the tv hanging from the ceiling, you tried to wrap your head around what all the numbers meant — a small bump caused you to look down, a younger man of the bunch staring at the tv proudly, “do you watch f1?” he turned his head to look at you as he finished asking his question.

f1... Is that what this was called?

“no, but I'd rather watch that then the football game that's on,” the boy looked at you with wide eyes, slightly in awe of how blunt you were. he nodded slightly before turning his attention back to the tv. “ I assume you do. you're wearing the colours of one of the cars,” you felt bad as you watched the boy curl into himself slightly.

ha looked over to you once again — “you can say that,” his eyes glinted a little bit as he spoke, a proud smirk coming across his face as he leaned in closer, not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but close enough that he could speak without the bar hearing. “I race for them — see that orange and blue mclaren? thats me.”

that was definitely more interesting than the news.

“so what might that mclaren driver's name be?” his head turned back to you, a slight red tint covering his cheeks, and climbing to the tips of his ears.

with a single hand outstretched to you, he introduced himself, “I’m lando norris — and who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

—

that day had happened a few months ago — and in that time, your friendship with the young driver had only progressed.

days you used to spend simply reading in the comfort of your own home, was now spent bouncing from bookshop from book shop — lando recommending you all the books that he had been in love with at the moment.

you had to refrain from telling him you had already read them, having looked him up on instagram a day or two after the initial meet — the photo of him cozy and comfortable in his bed with the stack of books perfectly visible to his side.

the types of books a person read could tell you a lot about their character — and with lando, it was all good things.

“okay, and then this one is semi based on a true story — like half true but has a lot of action and drama sprinkled in there-” he rambled on about the book he held in his hands, his eyes darting between you and it as his hands ran over the spine and pages of the book.

even knowing the writer, plot, and ending — you couldn't bring yourself to put an end to his ramblings. instead, you stood to his side and nodded eagerly as he spoke words with such excitement.

for any other person, you would have cut them off and told them that you had read it — but for some reason, cutting lando off was the last thing you wanted to do. he wasn't the famous young driver for mclaren who was always eager for a challenge on the track. he was just lando.

the boy who had a mini library growing in his room, filled with books from every genre. he was the boy with the odd affinity for milk. he was just normal.

and for the first time in your life — normal felt nice.

—

“lando, you're insane.”

“maybe a little bit, but insane is fun sometimes.”

when lando said he had something fun in mind for the two of you to do, the last place you expected to end up was on the shore of an ice cold lake — the wind blowing harshly against your body, making it sway slightly with the force.

lando had already taken off his jacket, now standing in just his shirt and bottoms.

“I’m not going in that,” you backed away from the boy as he stripped more and more of his clothes off, dropping them in a neat pile on the ground.

he shrugged, pausing in his action of removing his jeans, “are you not going in because its cold, or are you not going in because you don't have a swim suit?” while the lake technically was still warm enough for swimming, the thought of the water 's temperature that was lowering daily paired with the strong winds, didn’t exactly spark excitement in you.

“both.”

“it’s either your coming in by your own will, or I’m dragging you in.”

“you touch me and I’ll hurt you — that’s a promise.”

a mischievous glint appears in lando’s eyes — he knew what he was about to do was going to get him in trouble, and most likely hurt in the end, but the thought of doing it overpowered his thoughts about what would happen after.

there was no going back.

in a split second lando had his arms wrapped around your waist as he dragged you closer to the lake — despite the heels of your feet digging into the ground, he had still succeeded in getting you close enough that if he threw his body weight towards the water, you would soon follow.

and that’s exactly what he did.

a laugh from lando, a squeal from you, and the whooshing of the air rushing past your ears was all you could hear before you found yourself submerged under the cold water.

you clawed your way back to the surface with the help of lando’s arms, which were still wrapped around your waist — as soon as you felt the coldness of the air reach your face, you were turning in his arms and swinging.

“I’m fully clothed you asshole!” you brought a fist down lightly on the top of his head — the water squishing out at the action.

“stop- don’t- stop hitting me!” lando laughed as he let you go, swimming backwards slightly as a way to get away from your violent swings. “I know that you're fully clothed- that's what makes it so funny,” the curly haired boy couldn't contain his laughter at the end — his voice railing into the squeaky laugher that you had come to love.

without the support of lando, paired with the additional weight of your heavy winter coat and soaked wool toque and mittens, you began to struggle slightly to stay afloat. “lando-” the water climbed its way up your face before washing back down as you kicked harder.

his laugher stopped as he kicked his way over to you — grabbing around your waist once more and holding you to his body.

with the distance closed between the two of you, the feeling of his warm breath against your face was unavoidable — as well as the feeling of the heat radiating from his body, even through the layers you had on. neither of you spoke, both trying not to move — for every movement brought a wave of discomfort with your muscles tensed up from the cold. but as time started to tick slower, and all you could feel was the other — the last thing on both of your minds was the temperature of the water.

“you’re turning blue, lando,” as much as you wished you would've stayed in that position forever, the sight of lando’s cheeks and lips draining of its naturally pink colour concerned you. even with layers upon layers of clothes on, you found yourself shivering — and with lando in nothing but his boxers, you doubted he was doing much better than you. “I think right now is a good time to get out,” lando didnt reply, only bringing the two of you closer to the shore.

with chattering teeth, bodies curled in, and fast feet, lando and you made your way to his car — both jumping in the minute you could get your hands on the door handle. neither of you cared for the seats wetting as you sat down.

“I think I have some towels in the back from my training — can you grab them? I’ll get the heat and everything going,” you leaned into the back of the car to the best of your ability, pulling two towels out of an orange gym bag, and bringing them to the front where lando and you sat.

lando wrapped the towel around his shoulders — the shaking constant and harsh, rocking his body violently.

“I would say I told you so, but I feel too bad to even insult you,” with your jacket, toque, and mittens stippped off and thrown onto the floor, you wrapped your towel around your shoulders much like lando had.

“awe, youre so considerate — I didn’t think it through.”

“trust me — I can tell.”

the sound of the heaters on blast and the clattering of teeth was all that filled the car. lando had seemed aggravated at your comment — the way his body turned slightly away from your own, his eyes never meeting yours, and the fact that there was no laugh following or during his words.

what had you said or done that pissed him off?

“are you mad at me?”

lando turned slowly, his eyes still not fully meeting yours — but he looked like he was less angry and more conflicted. “I’m not mad, I’m just- just,” the words were on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to say them. “forget it.”

“no, I wanna know what's wrong — please tell me?”

he angled his body to face yours after a few moments of no response, making it so him and you looked at eachother with ease. “back out there on the lake- did you… did you feel anything?” your body tensed at his question — it was the last thing that you thought would come out of his mouth, so it took you by surprise. “because I know I did — and that scares me.”

you struggled to find a string of words that made sense to you, “I mean, yeah I guess I did — what did you feel? just so I can make sure that I felt the same thing.”

“I felt like I wanted to stay in that position forever — like I wanted to kiss you,” the words he spoke were soft and genuine. “all I felt was you.”

it had taken months for you to put a name to the feelings you had when you were around the british boy, but now, more than ever, did you finally know what they were.

they were love.

“I felt the same thing — all that I could feel was you and your stupidly perfect body against mine,” both of you giggled slightly at that. “and all that was running through my head was that if you had asked me to do anything with you, I would have done it — hell you could have asked me to marry you with paper rings and I would’ve said yes.”

lando stared at you with a calm look on his face — his eyes drinking you and all of your features in. “I’m glad — because I was thinking the same thing,” his hand fell on top of yours, bringing a warmth to the back of it. “and no need for paper rings when I can promise you the real deal when the time comes.”

“like I said before, I would marry you with paper rings lando,” you leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “now kiss me you goof.”

he didn’t have to be asked twice.

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #::lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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infinitebells · 4 years ago

Note

Moran as your starbuck barista 👀

I CANT EXPLAIN WHY THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY OMG-

it’s a mini fic now so enjoy.

you don’t recognize the man behind the counter at your usual starbucks. it doesn’t throw you off too much, but the perpetual smirk on his face sparks curiosity within you. by the time it's your turn, his eyes are trained on you and his smirk has morphed into something more playful. you can’t help but notice the way his black short sleeve t-shirt clings to his upper body, and how absurdly tall he is too.

“well well, what can i get for such a pretty lady such as yourself?” he says, tapping a few buttons on the screen in front of him before looking back up at you. you can feel your cheeks get warm at his heavy gaze.

“i’ll just take an iced coffee with cream and sugar please,” you say, and his smirk transforms into a smile. it’s illegally gorgeous.

“a classic drink, i like that! anything else i can get for ya?” he’s full on grinning now, and you speak on impulse at the sight.

“i mean your number would be nice,” you say, eyes widening as you clamp your lips shut. his eyes widen too, a faint blush painting his cheeks. his mouth forms a small ‘o’ before it splits in a wide smile. he bends down, grabbing a scrap of an old receipt and a pen next to him before scribbling numbers onto the paper before sliding it across the counter to you.

“can i get a name for your order and for whenever you decide to text me?” he asks, and for the first time in this exchange he looks breathless. when you tell him, his eyes light up.

“why the face?” your voice is quieter than you anticipated.

“because your name is more beautiful than i thought it would be,” he says before pressing a few more buttons on the machine. you hand him your card and he finishes ringing you up.

“thank you,” you say, smiling widely to him. he smiles back before you step back and let the next person order. by the time you’re picking up your coffee, the smile still hasn’t left your face. it grows wider when you see the name ‘pretty lady <3’ written messily on the paper label.

———

by the time you’ve finally reached your apartment after a long day of interning at the orthopedics office your best friend recommended to you. you flop down onto the couch, sighing as you shrug your purse off of your shoulder. you fish through the contents of your bag before finding the small strip of paper you were looking for. you stare at the numbers before steeling enough courage to send a quick “hey :)” to the boy from the coffee shop.

you

hey :)

unknown

is this the pretty lady from starbucks? because if not we’re gonna have some problems

you can’t help but giggle a bit before responding.

you

this is she

i just realized i never got your name though

unknown

it’s sebastian :)

———

after a week of non-stop texting, he finally stayed serious for long enough to ask you out on a proper date. which was why you were now walking along the lamp lit streets of the city, laughing at another one of sebastian’s crazy stories that he had about his friends, a cup of ice cream in each of your guys’ hands.

“i swear to god he had no idea we were all home, so imagine the look on albert’s face when he’s bringing home his date and he sees the four of us drunk as shit in the living room and giggling about how will couldn’t properly pronounce croissant,” he’s laughing, barely able to get out the words as he speaks. you’re right there with him, mouth spread wide as you two laugh together.

“well how does he normally pronounce croissant?” you manage to get out, and this only sends sebastian into another fit of laughter.

“he...he says it like ‘quack-sant’ and it’s the funniest thing in the world,” he says, his head thrown back in laughter. you take a moment to admire how his eyes crinkle in the low street light, how his smile is filled with pure and unfiltered joy, and how his cheeks glow with a beautiful blush. he’s absolutely stunning. he stops laughing, looking down to see you staring at him.

“what’s up sweetheart? am i too distracting?” he grins boyishly, and you can’t help but reciprocate the smile.

“yeah, i guess you are pretty distracting seb,” you say, looking down bashfully. you don’t realize you two have reached the door of your apartment, where he had first picked you up for the date. you feel his hand under your chin, guiding your face up to his.

“seb?” his grin is much wider than before, and your eyes widen at the unintentional nickname you gave him.

“i- well- i didn’t mean to,” you trail off, and his smile softens a bit.

“don’t worry, i like it,” he says, and you smile softly. he leans down until his face is level with yours. your eyes are still wide, and you’re praying that he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. “is it okay if i kiss you goodnight?” his voice is quiet, and you feel yourself nod unconsciously. when his lips meet yours it isn’t like the fireworks that everyone tells you about. it’s warm, comforting, and it builds until there’s warmth spreading from your chest to every single one of your cells. his lips are gentle against yours, and he has a hand on your cheek to keep your face close to his. when he pulls away, your face is unnaturally warm and his is painted in a deep red.

“do you want to come in for a drink?” you’re breathless, and it’s worse when he speaks again.

“i don’t usually sleep with people on the first date yknow,” he says cheekily, and laughs when you smack his arm lightly.

“we’re not sleeping together asshole, i’m serious! just drinks and talking, no sex,” you explain. he looks down at you for a moment before nodding.

“i’d love to come in for drinks and talking, no sex.”

———

“babe! i can’t find my shirt! do you know where it is?” you hear sebastian call from your shared bedroom, and you giggle silently to yourself as he walks out shirtless to see you in his shirt and panties in the kitchen.

“nope! i have no idea where it is,” you say, twirling on one foot and shooting him a sly grin. he matches it, and you take note of his low hanging sweatpants as he makes his way over to you, slinging his arms over your waist.

“such a little klepto i have on my hands,” he says fondly before leaning down to quickly peck you.

“you still love me though,” you say, and he smiles against your lips.

“that i do sweetheart. that i do.”

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #sebastian moran #sebastian moran x reader #colonel sebastian moran

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samusangel · 4 years ago

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˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚𓆟 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀; what happens when inarizaki’s sweetheart falls head over heels for renowned fuckboy miya atsumu?

⤿ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲; fluff, angst

⤿ 𝗮/𝗻; everyone has a kansai accent (the reader’s accent isnt that strong at times) so dont let ur brain get jumbled. enjoy <3

⤿ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(??): swearing, SPOILERS!!

⤿ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.3k

𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗼 *̣̩⋆̩☽

y/l/n y/n, inarizaki’s very own angel. always bubbling with excitement, always smiling. her giggles often enchant the students of inarizaki; it’s like a glimpse into heaven.

never in a million years would they have thought she’d be friends with miya atsumu. inarizaki’s very own devil in disguise. your typical heartbreaker.

if it wasn’t for kita and suna’s constant begging for her to be the manager for the volleyball club, she’d probably not even talk to him.

“y/n-chan!”

you swiftly turn on your heel, stopping the current conversation you were having with aran. atsumu’s in front of you, panting. he must’ve been running here; you put a mental note in your brain to give him water later.

“thought i’d never catch up to ya. for a shorty, yer pretty quick.” atsumu’s smiling at you, it’s the same smile he gives to every other girl. you aren’t special to him, you’re just a fling waiting to happen.

you’ve been crushing on atsumu for quite a while. maybe it’s the affection he gives you? the other boys on the volleyball team give you brotherly love, you even call kita nii-san sometimes. but atsumu? his affection gave the intentions that he was interested in you. the same affectionate ways your friends’ boyfriends gave them. but you think again. this is miya atsumu, a playboy at it’s finest. he would never be interested in you, right?

“‘tsumu, i told ya not to call me shorty!” you lightly smack his arm, pouting.

“can’t resist it, yer too cute to not be called shorty. let’s go.” atsumu holds your hand as the two of you walk to the gym for practice.

“kita-nii!” you quickly let go of atsumu’s hand and run towards kita, hugging him.

“y/n-chan, it’s good to see you made it without you and ‘tsumu bitin each others’ heads off!” kita chuckles, patting your head as a signal to go get the surprise you had made for the team, aran getting up to go with you.

the moment you’re out of earshot, kita yells at atsumu.

“why’re ya late, ‘tsumu? thought ya said you’d make it on time today,” kita scoffs, thoroughly done with atsumu constantly being late the past month. nationals were coming up, he couldn’t have the team slacking, “don’t tell me it’s another one o’ ya dumb flings again.”

“was waitin for y/n-chan, she had to stay back and help some douche with his homework. tch, as if,” there was a certain jealously laced in his words, one that if you’d heard it you’re sure it would make your precious little heart burst.

“yer not much better, ya know.” osamu casually puts out, and he isn’t wrong. after all, atsumu isn’t given the title ‘playboy’ for nothing.

��‘samu, don’t be like that. i aint all that bad, right?” atsumu whines, frowning like a little kid about to have a temper tantrum.

“guys!! i have somethin’ for ya!” you walk back into the gym with aran, both holding a tray of baked goods.

“eh? y/n-chan, what’s that for?” the sweet smell of vanilla and strawberries wafts through the air, very quickly catching the inarizaki team’s attention.

“well.. you guys have been working really hard lately getting ready for nationals so i thought it’d be nice to bake you guys some sweets,” the team stared at her, wide-eyed. how did they get so lucky?

“o-oh but.. if ya guys don’t wan’ em-”

“y/n-chan, ya fuckin angel. we’re gonna eat all of these.” atsumu pulls you into a hug, your face smushed into his chest. you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, but you ignore the fuzzy feeling and familiar butterflies swarming; simply letting atsumu do what he wanted.

“‘tsumu, let go! ya gotta eat before the rest of the guys eat em!” atsumu loosens his grip around you, changing his hold on you to his arm falling to your waist.

the team eat the trays of pastries you baked the night before, osamu and atsumu constantly fighting over the mini-cupcakes you made with the extra batter. osamu claims they taste better, while atsumu just wants an excuse to beat his brother at something. suna just quietly eats the vanilla cookies, thanking you for being so generous to the idiots on his team. aran and kita are just watching osamu and atsumu fight, munching on cornets.

atsumu usually doesn’t make it very far fighting with osamu, it seems keeping his hold on your waist is much more important to him. your heart flutters at the position you’re currently in; you sitting next to atsumu, your head resting softly on his shoulder. atsumu humming a soft little tune only for your ears to hear as he peacefully watches you play with his much larger hands.

“should i bake some more for tomorrow?” you ask, lifting your head from atsumu’s shoulder to start packing up the trays and cleaning any crumbs the boys left behind.

“if ya wanna, we’re not fussed.” aran smiles sweetly to you; you simply give a small smile back.

“alright, we’ll just skip practice for today. you’re all gonna practice extra tomorrow though,” kita chuckles hearing the disapproving groans from his teammates, “don’t worry, im sure y/n can think of a way to keep ya excited.”

“i’ll start thinkin of some fun activities we can do on the weekend!” you chirp, getting up to find your bag.

everyone starts piling out; you walking out eagerly chatting with osamu about a new recipe you’ve been dying to try. atsumu’s much larger hand engulfs yours as you and atsumu split ways from osamu since atsumu insisted he walk you home.

“’tsumu, you don’t have to walk me home. i’m not a lil’ kid anymore.” you smile at him, feeling a sense of euphoria at the fact he chose to walk you home instead of walking home with osamu.

“yer so innocent though, i swear someone could lure ya in with candy or somethin’.” atsumu laughs, watching the way your face goes from a soft smile to slightly confused to very offended.

“c’mon atsu’,” you whined, pouting, “i’m not that dumb!”

“yeah, but ya aren’t that smart either,” he takes a moment to admire you while you ramble about how you still got better grades than him and how osamu is the smarter twin.

“oh! tsumu, you should go home now.”

“right. see ya tomorrow, y/n!”

the next few days pass and you feel as if the atmosphere is off between you and atsumu. you’ve spoken to osamu about it and he feels the same way. did something happen between you and atsumu?

“..astu’?” you tap atsumu’s shoulder softly, letting him know you’re there.

“oh. y/l/n.” atsumu isn’t looking at you with the usual gleam in his eyes and you’re starting to wondering if you messed up something.

“‘tsumu, why’re you callin’ me by my last name?” you bite your lip in a state of confusion and nervousness.

“y/n. we need to talk.” he sighs in a way that you would when you’re disappointed and you’re thinking you really fucked up.

after school, you meet atsumu in the gym. they don’t have practice today, so the gym was the perfect place to meet up.

“y/n. i know what you think about me. i can see it in the way you look at me.” atsumu begins, almost instantly regretting what he’s decided to do. the way your eyes are starting to tear up makes him know you know what he’s talking about.

“atsumu.. i didn’t- i didn’t mean to. it just-” you stutter out, tears dripping down your cheeks, as atsumu pulls you into a hug.

“shh, i know. it’s okay, yeah? just ‘cause ya fell in love with me doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. just needed ya to know that ya shouldn’t confess to me. i’m gonna have to reject ya, and i really don’t wanna do that.” you don’t know what to say, especially since you were hoping to confess to him in a few days.

“i- i’m gonna go, atsumu.” you pull away from him after a few minutes of silence and after your sobs have silenced.

“i’ll walk you home.”

“no.. atsumu, i need time to think, y’know?”

days pass, days turning to weeks and weeks beginning to edge onto two months. the heavy tension in the gym is suffocating. the bus ride to nationals isn’t much better either. you’re sitting as far away from atsumu as you can, avoiding the awkward looks he gives you. you know he wants to apologise for being so blunt to you, but you aren’t ready to talk to him yet.

“y/n, i think it’s time you talked with ‘tsumu. i know you don’t want to, but as our manager you have to for the sake of the team.” kita’s calm voice snaps you out of your lost state of mind. it was evident that you weren’t feeling your best from the way your gaze was soft and it looked like you were drifting off.

“oh. uh.. i don’t think he wants to see me right now?” you try to make an excuse but kita simply shakes his head no and you grumble.

“y/n. go now, please. ‘tsumu isn’t focusin’ durin’ practice. as manager ya needa set him straight.”

“kita-nii..” you hesitate for a moment, “fine. i’ll do it.”

“thank you, y/n.”

you walk up to atsumu, who seems quite surprised you’re even looking at him right now, and sit next to him.

“atsu’.. i don’t wanna be the reason you might lose nationals. i know how much this means to you,” you make eye contact with atsumu for the first time in about a month.

“y/n, it’s not yer fault, yeah?” atsumu cups your cheek with his hand, a small smile growing on his face, “shouldn’t have been so blunt with ya anyways, shoulda known you’d react like this.”

“are.. are we okay again?” you bite your lip lightly, patiently waiting for a reply.

“think we were always okay, we just had a lil’ mishap, y’know?”

“so.. can i sit next to you?” you feel at peace knowing what happened hopefully won’t change your current dynamic, even if you know atsumu definitely won’t be yours.

“yeah, ya can. c’mere.” you sit down before atsumu tucks you into his side.

the rest of the ride is silent, but the uncomfortable tension is eased.

nationals pass by in a few blinks. but in the end, unfortunately, inarizaki lost to karasuno; a school no one would’ve thought could make it this far before, not after their reputation of being ‘clipped crows’.

the bus is once again silent during the ride home, and it breaks your heart — as the manager who’s been with them as long as the second years have — seeing how distraught the boys look. everyone looks disappointed in themselves, even suna looks upset. but most of all, atsumu looks like he’s on the verge of tears. and sitting next to him gives you the front seats to the way his eyes are glossy, the tears threatening to spill over any moment.

even the school feels silent, the losing game somehow affecting the entirety of inarizaki. even you, the bubbly sweetheart, could barely smile.

months pass, and now it’s almost the end of your second year. everything seemed to pass in a blur, from the losing match to the rest of your second year. the only thing that seemed to linger was the feeling of regret; and your feelings for atsumu. maybe if you didn’t catch feelings for atsumu, he would’ve been more focused. if you didn’t catch feelings, he wouldn’t have had to talk to you about it.

although the boys didn’t technically have to keep practicing, a few of the boys kept going; especially atsumu.

“atsu’? it’s time to lock up before ya get in trouble from coach. again.” your soft voice calling out to atsumu snaps him out of his focus.

“oh. yeah, gimme a minute.”

you watch atsumu do his jump serve, the sound of the impact from the ball hitting the floor bouncing on the walls of the gym. atsumu tried to hit another serve before you register why you’re there but it’s too late.

“atsu’, no! i’ll help you clean up, c’mon. you gotta walk me home, it’s late. it’d be terrible if i, your precious manager, got kidnapped right?” you joked, though you were still terrified at the thought of getting kidnapped for real.

“yeah ya right, it’d be so hard for the team without our darlin’ lil’ manager.” atsumu chuckles.

your parents didn’t really mind where you went at night, especially since they knew you were often with atsumu. so it’s no surprise that your parents don’t call or text when it’s late at night and you’re at a park with atsumu, sitting on a bench together. the cold breeze making you wish you’d brought your jacket with you that day. and it seems atsumu notices because soon after you shiver, atsumu’s large jacket is placed on your shoulders.

“hey, y/n?” atsumu swings his arm around your shoulder and makes you shuffle closer to him.

“mm?”

“i like you.”

“oh, cool. wait. what??” your whip your head to face him, shocked at the sudden confession.

“maybe i can give this whole love thing a shot? doesn’t seem that hard to keep ya happy.” atsumu jokes, watching as your expression shuffles through happy, confused and a mix of the two.

“i- i like you too but.. your volleyball career?”

atsumu simply shushes you and brings you into a soft kiss; and you wish time would stop right then.

“be my girlfriend?” he smiles at you, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

and who were you to say no to that?

#happy birthday to the miya twins <3 #i had fun writing this for tsumu 🥰🥰#vivi says i can write #samusangel birthday special #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #miya atsumu x y/n #haikyuu headcanons

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary: Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you? Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever. “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

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thelittlebirdthattoldyou · 4 years ago

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in full bloom (iwaoi)

31 days of hq day 19: favorite quote

☆ pairing: iwaizumi hajime/oikawa tooru

☆ genre: fluff

☆ summary: iwaoi + argentina + flowers

☆ wc: 616

☆ a/n: thank you to @nikfehu for helping me out with some of the flower stuff

☆ based on “talent is something you make bloom” courtesy of best boy oikawa

When Oikawa moves to Argentina, he takes up gardening.

It’s not something he planned. He’s never given it much thought before, despite having attended Aoba Johsai with all its plant iconography. But one of his San Juan teammates gives him a little pot of white hydrangeas as a housewarming gift, and there’s a jacaranda tree on the street right outside his apartment, and he finds that taking care of them is calming. Soon he collects more: the succulents in a neat row on the windowsill, the spider plant hanging in a corner, the delicate bonsai on his shelf.

Iwaizumi comes to visit a year after he’s settled in. Oikawa picks him up from the airport, and they go straight to his team’s practice. He probably could have gotten permission to skip, but he wants Iwaizumi to see him play.

He curves his tosses in high, graceful arcs, guided perfectly into the waiting downswing of his spikers. Iwaizumi’s gaze burns into him from the sidelines, and Oikawa’s lips split apart in a wide grin. He’s come into his own, and he knows it, and he wants Iwaizumi to know it, too - he wants Iwaizumi to see that all they’ve worked for together has led to this. He doesn’t regret a single choice, and he especially doesn’t regret that he chose Iwaizumi.

They go to dinner with the team. Oikawa loves his teammates - more than a few of his seedlings back home are not-so-ironically named after them - but today he’s happy to sit back and watch them laugh amongst each other. He spends the evening speaking in low tones to Iwaizumi, sitting beside him. He’s been busy in California, and they’ve only been able to text so much. Now it feels like they’ll never run out of things to say to each other.

He calls it a night early and takes Iwaizumi back to his apartment, beaming as he shows him around. They’ve Skype chatted routinely since graduation, and Iwaizumi has seen glimpses of his bedroom and living room in the background, but Oikawa wanted to save the grand reveal for an in-person tour.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as he takes in the colorful ceramic pots that line nearly every available surface. He reaches out to brush his fingers over the broad leaves of a mini palm tree, wonder in every line of his face. “Did you grow these?” he asks.

“Of course, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says.

“What happened to the Shittykawa I know who killed a cactus in high school?”

“Hey!” Oikawa protests. “Things have changed. I can’t believe you still doubt me.”

Iwaizumi meets his eyes. “I’ve never doubted you,” he says.

Oikawa’s heart thumps in his chest. Even in high school, Iwaizumi saw him not for who he was but for everything he could be. And now that he’s finally blossomed the way Iwaizumi believed he would, it’s a little overwhelming. Oikawa breaks eye contact. “I have something for you.”

He grabs the box of flower bulbs off the low table and presses them into Iwaizumi’s hands. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “These are seeds,” he says, unnecessarily. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

Plant them, idiot, Oikawa thinks, but he bites his tongue. “They’re amaryllis,” he says instead. “A little hard to grow, but - if you love them and take care of them properly, they’ll become something really beautiful.”

Iwaizumi softens. “Of course I’ll take care of them.”

They’re not talking about the flowers anymore. Iwaizumi cradles the box in one hand and holds the other out between them, palm facing up. Oikawa smiles and laces their hands together.

Outside, the wind rustles through the violet jacaranda flowers. Inside, nothing more needs to be said.

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Observation.

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Mini!Yandere!OC/Mini!Reader.

Synopsis: It’s like being the pet of a pet. Shrunken down, trapped, and isolated… There are worse things you could do than keep your head down and try to play happy-family.

TW: Shrinking, Violence, Imprisonment, Gaslighting and Mentions of Kidnapping.

“It gets better, after a few days.”

His voice was calm, laced with an unidentifiable accent and heavy with a calm, complacent undertone, the kind you’d expect from someone talking to an old friend rather than another hostage. You’d only been awake for an hour or two, but if he was going to panic, he didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so in front of you. Rather, he’d just greeted you and offered an insincere apology before helping you to your feet, spurring you on with promises of tea and explanations, both of which he seemed in no particular rush to provide.

The strangeness of your current state seemed obvious, by now, even if it didn’t really make sense. Your host was normal, a man of few words and tan skin with the barest hints of a spiraling tattoo peeking out from just beneath his sleeves, but he was the only normal thing you’d seen so far. The kitchen table was too low, pushing against the tops of your knees, but your chair was too high, the soles of your feet barely able to touch the ground. The empty vase on the nearest counter was ornate, but plastic, the cheap, overly-decorated sort of thing you’d decorate a playroom with. Most of the cabinets were false, but the few that weren’t contained plates too thick and too wide, cups that were just too small to be held comfortably, silverware that didn’t feel right in your hands. They were tools for toys, faux-commodities for dolls that didn’t need to really use them.

Things for people like you, now.

You crossed your arms on the smooth tabletop, staring down at your hands. Trying to see if anything about you was different, as you spoke. “I don’t know how you can say that.”

“It does,” He assured, making no exceptional attempt to sound any more convincing than he cared to be. “The headache will start to fade with a little sleep, and you get used to making do. We have a lot, but there’s always something missing.” He paused, chucking under his breath, as if the minor inconvenience was his own, personal joke. “I think he does it on purpose. To ‘simulate the difficulties of real-life’, or whatever excuse he wants to use to explain why I’ve been doing laundry by-hand for the past year and a half.”

You stiffened at the mention of your kidnapper, the person who forced you into their little fucked-up experiment. The details of your abduction were blurry, a nonlinear series of pricks to your arm and nonsensical threats you couldn’t quite remember, but you didn’t push yourself to recall much else. You had a feeling you wouldn’t like anything you managed to dredge up. If someone had the capability to make you into something so small, something so helpless, and the apathy to put you on display like a prized pet… You weren’t sure they’d be nice enough to make the transformation as painless as you’d hope.

“I don’t live here,” You mumbled, more to yourself than to him, although the stranger saw fit to hum in response to the admission. “In this town, I mean. I just moved here for a job - I didn’t even really want to, but I needed the money. They set me up with an apartment and everything.” A kettle whistled, and he nodded sympathetically. He didn’t turn to face you. “I didn’t even get to see it, not before I got… shrunk, or whatever.”

“New faces make the most convenient targets. If no one knows you, no one can look for you. Everyone you used to know is too far to do any good.” You sink into your seat. Somehow, his words of comfort did little to inspire much hope. “I think I was a tourist. I was passing through, stopping at a bar, and then--” He clicked his tongue, waving in some vague, dismissive gesture. “--this.”

You frowned, biting the side of your cheek. “Were you scared?”

At that, he glanced over his shoulder, sending you a loose, careless smile. You attempted to return it as he pulled a mug from the nearest drawer, preparing a still-boiling drink with the idle concentration of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. “At first, but as I said, it gets easier. You never get used to it, but the homesickness fades, and you find ways to keep yourself occupied. The only thing that’s changed is your size.” Your shoulders slumped, your attention quickly drifting back to your own self-pity, but a sturdy hand came to rest on your shoulder before you could start to spiral. “You’re not alone, either. You have me, and we will get you through this. In the meantime, drink.” A mug was delicately placed in front of you, the handle just a little too thick to hold comfortably. “It’ll help with the nausea. You’ll feel better once you clear your head.”

You only leaned back, letting him rub slow, soothing circles into your back as you lifted the mug to your lips and took a sip, if only to see the way his smile seemed to grow.

By the sixth day, you’d come to terms with the fact that you were, undoubtedly, in a dollhouse.

The layout was massive, but easy to navigate. The building was split down the middle by a spiraling staircase, the dizzying structure decorated with halls in either direction, all leading to bedrooms or bathrooms or spaces so sickeningly domestic, you’d come to think of the kitchen as a neutral zone. Most were unused. Leon’s (he’d introduced himself properly later on that night, once you were stable enough to ask) bedroom was tucked into a corner of the ground-floor, but there were signs of life everywhere. An empty cup left in an otherwise unoccupied parlor, a book abandoned halfway through, little things, but things Leon didn’t seem like the type to overlook.

The only aspects of the house that hadn’t been tampered with were the industrial-style security cameras, each protected by a metal box and a colorful array of warnings, and one of the spare rooms on the top floor, this one covered floor to ceiling with pastel colors and stuffed animals, things for someone much, much younger than you or the home’s only other occupant. You didn’t try to investigate further. There’d been a camera in that room, too, and if your captor saw you looking around, they might’ve assumed you were curious about...

You’d moved on quickly. That’s all that mattered.

None of the doors had locks, either. You’d only found two so far, a row of deadbolts on the symbolic front-door and a padlock on the basement, both of which seemed to be later additions. Currently, you were lingering near the latter, unsure if you should persist and risk the wrath of your all-seeing voyeur or leave it alone, live to dwell in paranoid anxiety for another day. A part of you was scared, honestly. Nothing else had to be locked away, hidden behind a bolted door, and if there was something you weren’t supposed to see, you weren’t sure you wanted to. If it was Leon’s secret, you couldn’t--

You never got to reach a conclusion. Without warning, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest and pretending not to notice how quickly you went rigid. There was a laugh, a playful squeeze to your hip, and just as quickly as you were restrained, you were let go, forced to turn around and meet the dark eyes of your only companion. Leon was like he always was, cheerful and much too enthusiastic, despite neither emotion having an obvious motivation. Still, you fell into it quickly, attempting to mirror his joy. It was the least you could do, considering how kind he’d been, over the past few days. “I didn’t realize you were up,” He explained. “It’s still strange to have another person here. I wasn’t--”

Suddenly, he stopped, pursing his lips and scanning over you. His eyes never managed to rise above your neckline, though. “What do you think you’re wearing?”

It took you a moment to process the question. There was a closet full of clothes in the room you’d picked out, but you’d managed to avoid them, so far. Every piece was stiff, unyielding to shame or preferences, and the color scheme was akin to something you’d see in an ancient sitcom. It was a futile progression to dread, and yet, you planned on putting it off for as long as possible.

Judging by Leon’s expression, ‘as long as possible’ wasn’t for much longer.

“I didn’t want to change,” You admitted, a hand absentmindedly drifting to your wrinkled shirt, smoothing over the thin fabric. “It just feels… I didn’t want to, alright? Is something wrong with that?”

That earned a scowl. It took more self-restraint than it should’ve not to step back. “I left something out for you.”

You’d woken up to a pale-pink monstrosity laid out on the foot of your bed, still on a hanger. It’d been disregarded without a second thought. “I didn’t realize,” You mumbled, bowing your head just enough to seem apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be a big deal… Does it matter?”

His scowl deepened, grew, but just as quickly as it’d come, Leon found a way so cover it up. It was there, but a second later, it wasn’t, an expression of disappointed sympathy sewing itself seamlessly into his features. With a gentle, patronizing sigh, he pulled you into another hug, choosing once again to ignore the gesture’s one-sided nature. “It does, angel, but we’ll make an exception this time, alright? When I do something thoughtful, you’re supposed to show me you appreciate it. That’s how this is supposed to work.”

You opened your mouth, thinking for a moment before closing it again. Suddenly, you were glad he couldn’t see your face. The concern slowly infecting it would’ve been… worrying, and you weren’t sure if you could think of an unimportant agitation to explain it away. “The basement,” You said, instead. “Do you have the key?”

“Don’t ask silly questions.” Leon pulled back, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger. “Hopefully, that door will stay locked. I don’t see a reason either of us should have to go someplace so unpleasant.”

You nodded, and Leon took you by the hand, wordlessly guiding you back towards the center of the house, towards the spiraling staircase and towards your bedroom, where his selected outfit was still waiting, sprawled out over your comforter.

This time, you didn’t argue when he told you to put it on.

He waited three weeks to start sleeping in your bed.

It might’ve been an impulsive decision, on his part. It felt impulsive to you. One moment, you were huddled underneath thin sheets, just beginning to close your eyes and welcome the darkness, and the next you were wide awake, terrified and paralyzed as your mattress dipped, creaking as Leon moved onto it. If he cared that you were awake, he didn’t make an effort to show it, only sliding under your sheets and throwing an arm over your waist, holding you with a practiced intimacy, an undeserved intimacy. The kind of closeness you didn’t want any part in.

“Leon,” You mumbled, much too quietly to be taken seriously. As if there was anyone else you should be afraid of waking up. “Are you alright? Why--”

“Hush, now.” His voice was low, but not tired. Perfectly awake. Perfectly aware. More of a half-hearted threat and a command made out of fatigued necessity. “Sleep, sweetheart. Don’t ask questions.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead coming to rest against the nape of your neck. You didn’t.

“I see you're fond of your new companion”

Elias didn’t make an effort to pose the sentiment gently. He seemed bored, if anything, his chin resting on his fist as he stared down at you and Leon, seemingly numb to the oddity of talking to two people that barely measured up to his thumb. He’d been generous enough to let out of the dollhouse for - as Leon affectionately put it - the ‘monthly check-in’, or… onto the table it rested on, at least.

It was disorienting, seeing the space that surrounded your world, all bare walls and scientific instruments you couldn’t identify, sterile but cluttered, like an unused room in a very lived-in home. Elias was nothing special, either, not the ominous, foreboding figure you’d imagined. He seemed average, if anything, a pair of black glasses and a head of unruly hair making for a rather unimposing figure. A captor, but not an intimidating one. A man with a hobby that just so happened to need a few unwilling volunteers.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from shrinking into Leon’s side when his gaze shifted towards you.

“They’re good company,” Leon answered, his composure never wavering. Why would it? He’d done this a thousand times before, and as far as you knew, he and Elias got along. As well as a captor and their captive could, anyway. “To tell the truth, I’m starting to think I’ve been here too long. I was almost glad this one wasn’t so stubborn, after last time.”

You felt your throat go dry. “Last time?”

“I don’t want to have to deal with another incident,” Elias warned, brushing off your question as if it’d never been asked. “You got along with your other roommates too, at first. Everything’s wonderful and terrific and perfect, until I come to check on you and find one less participant than I should.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head as he let out a noise of frustration. “I can move (Y/n) to another enclosure if this isn’t going to work. I don’t want to lose resources because you don’t get along with them.”

Leon gasped, pressing a palm to his heart in a show of betrayal. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to make a joke or distract you from the topic at hand. “I’ve never done anything that wasn’t necessary. You told me to take care of my home, and I am. I shouldn’t have to suffer because you have poor taste.” Elias rolled his eyes, and Leon laughed, slumping against you, intertwining his fingers with yours mindlessly. “You picked a timid one, and they’re coming along nicely. I don’t plan to waste such a rare opportunity.”

“Are you sure?” Elias asked, leaning back in his chair and fishing for something on the floor at his feet. A notepad, but you couldn’t make out what was written on it. “I’d hate to disagree, but your track-record says otherwise. I’m patient, but I do have my limits, Leon.”

He glanced towards you for the first time since the start of their conversation, keeping you in the corner of his eye. “(Y/n)’s going to behave.”

You didn’t know whether or not you should correct him.

You should’ve corrected him.

“No,” You spat, not bothering to hide your disgust. It was a terrible feeling, a vile sense of wrong, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised. Everything about Leon was telling, from the grimace pressed into his lips to the anger in his eyes, bright and fiery and terrible. Unconsciously, you pressed yourself against the tiled wall, gripping your towel a little tighter. It was the only barrier between him and you, and by god, you weren’t going to give it up. “Get away from me. Don’t touch me.”

“You’re being irrational,” He said, crossing his arms and taking a step closer. You considered making a run for the bathroom door, but you doubted you’d be able to reach it before he reacted, catching you and doing something worse than staring you down. “Couples bathe together. It’s normal, you’re just--”

“We’re not a couple!” It was the first time you’d yelled at him, the first time you raised your voice, and Leon didn’t try to hide his offense. He edged closer, but you were quick to press yourself against the wall, to bare your teeth and try to make it clear he couldn’t intimidate you just by existing. Not again. “We’re captives. We were kidnapped, I was kidnapped, you were kidnapped. You can’t keep acting like this is normal, and you can’t expect me to. I’m not just going to sit back and play nice while you--”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” He warned, his eyes narrowing. The shower was still running, hot steam beginning to fill the room, but Leon didn’t seem to feel the need to turn it off. You’d barely had time to cover yourself before he came in, your hair and your skin still dripping, but you were glad you had. If only to protect the few traces of dignity you had left. “Stop,” He ordered, grimly. “You’re going to say something you regret.”

That was your sign to back down. That you should give him what he wanted, or at the very least, do your damnedest to make sure you weren’t the reason he didn’t get it. When he stopped trying to patronize you, it meant he was mad. And when he was mad…

You tried not to think about what happened when Leon got mad.

You should’ve backed down, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to let him have his way. “You don’t even want to get out of here, do you?”

Grit teeth. A locked jaw. Your second warning. “You shouldn’t--”

“I shouldn’t ask questions?” You cut him off without hesitation. “What do you not want me to ask? What are you so scared of my finding out? That you like feeling powerful? That you want to be in control? You can’t lie to me, I’m the one that has to deal with you. All your rules and your comfort and your fucking clothes.” You forced yourself to stop, to take a breath and seek out the same composure Leon was so good at maintaining. He took the chance to make his argument.

“You’ve been here for a month, I’ve been here for nineteen. You don’t know what it’s like when Elias doesn’t get his way. You haven’t had to deal with that because I’m helping you.” Another step. He was practically breathing down your throat, now. “You should be grateful.”

But, you didn’t want to be grateful. You wanted Leon to stop acting like you should be.

You swallowed, letting the silence grow tense before you broke it. “Someone was here before me.” He made no move to interrupt. You persisted. “What happened last time?”

He flinched, and made no attempt to hide it. You didn’t need another warning.

You lunged to the side, aiming blindly for the door, a weapon, anything that could help you escape or fight or act. Leon was faster than you, though, and much more practiced. A fist closed around your shoulder, blunt nails tearing into your skin, and just as swiftly, a heel found its way to the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground, something in your ankle cracking as you collapsed. You were slammed into the unforgiving floor, your cheek soon pressed against the cool surface and Leon’s body bent around yours, his weight and his strength keeping you pinned down. Weakly, you tried to push yourself up, but Leon only growled, his resolve strengthened and his grip iron-clad. There was nothing you could do to squirm away, not unless he had a sudden change of heart

“Bitch,” He spat, letting out a string of less specific profanities under his breath. “I took care of you. I kept you safe. All you had to do was let me.”

You didn’t respond. Leon sighed, but his hold on you never loosened.

“You still want to know what happened, don’t you?” He sounded defeated, exhausted, but that didn’t stop him from kissing your shoulder as you struggled to nod, the gesture both fleeting and far too prolonged, at the same time. He pulled back, but didn’t let you go, only scanning over you with the same tight, loving smile he always wore when he was about to do something awful.

You’d never thought that smile would make you feel so sick.

“You’re about to find out, angel.”

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